Whispers in the Dark
by sycamoreleaf
Summary: AU - None believed that the hate-filled words of a little girl could still live on after more then 200 years, but when strange events start occurring in London the city's only hope of survival lies with one mouse ... and a rat? genderswap, full sum.inside
1. Prologue

**_The Great Mouse Detective_ and the _Basil of Baker Street Mysteries_ belong to the Walt Disney Company and the late Eve Titus respectively. The original name of "Sherringford" for Basil's first name, Myerricroft Basil, Chief-Inspector Vole and Detective Inspector Clawes are the creations of Mlle. Irene Relda.**

*This work of fanfiction is a response to the "Gender Bender" challenge issued by Cybra at on Basil's Public Reading Forum.

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**Summary:** There are things in this world can not always have a logical explanation. After Ratigan's disappearance following his failure to take control over Mousedom life for Sherringford Basil had changed quite drastically, yet despite all its new found advantages the Great Mouse Detective must still fight in order to keep up a secret that once out could mean the end for Basil of Baker Street. Not an easy task considering the dubious murders that have suddenly sprung on the streets of London, Dr. Dawson's disappearance and a curse placed by a gil almost 200 years ago ...

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**_Whispers in the Dark_**

**Prologue**

Before I begin my tale, I must be sure you understand, dear reader, that this is not a fairytale, for even if it starts with a "once upon a time…" it is a tale most would not wish to remember. It is a story of hate and betrayal, of hurt and of broken hearts, and all because of something as simple as a mere misunderstanding. Sadly, this is a tale that for most it would have better stayed forgotten.

But alas, that has not come to be…

And thus I begin my tale:

Once upon a time, but not as long ago as it seems, in the heart of England's great London, on the lower levels of a bakery to be more precise, lived a certain girl and her grandfather, a old baker-mouse of 58. They were not a wealthy duo, but they could manage, and what was more important to them was that they were happy, or at least could afford to live in inglorious bliss. The old baker-mouse has already reached a certain age when nothing the world thought about him would bother him, while the girl was… well, she was just the "odd one of the den".

The girl was a strange creature to say the least. She was know to have these odd, big green eyes that could see inside one's soul, and bore such disregard for the natural laws of our world and such a horrifying interest for the dark and the dead that many would have accused her of witchcraft if not for the little detail that if one dared accuse her of anything, said person would somehow suffer inexplicable burns all over their body. Because of this slight detail, people chose to stay away from her and leave her be. If she was a witch, then there was no reason to anger her…

Or the creature that was watching over her.

Rumor goes that she was followed by the devil ever since her parents perished in a fire, a fire she had witnessed. The girl had claimed to have been the work of rats, yet nobody listened to her words… until the death rate had suddenly grown. It is a theory which most of the people who knew her seamed to embrace for she is often seen talking to herself, claiming to hear voices and come up with some of the most horrifying theories about death. And then there were her sketches… The girl could have made a fine artist, some said, if not for the fact that all her drawings appeared to be something seen through the eyes of Satan.

The people were scared of her.

Still, despite the stories, unnatural coincidences and a couple of dead bees found around her house, she was a silent childe, concerned only over the welfare of her grandfather. Nobody understood her or took time to know her, except an Irish professor that had recently moved in town.

One night however, this all changed.

"Grandfather? What are you doing? Is something wrong?" the girl had once asked her grandfather who, for the first time since she moved in with him after her parent's death, looked so beaten by weather and worry that even she could see that something had gone wrong. The older rodent simply looked at the youngest member of his little family before turning back to finish packing.

The girl could not understand what was happening. Income was regular and while she could admit that some of their customers preferred to "come back later" while she was in the house, she could not understand what was happening.

Unless, it was not her fault that they had to leave.

"Grandfather, you are making me worry. Please tell me what is wrong" the little girl had pleaded her grandfather, but he still refused to say a word. His silence was enough for her fears to surface.

A few nights ago, a cargo ship had returned from the continent and among the usual human crew members and crates of rare foods and grain, came a colony of very hostile looking rats. Most mice feared them because of their red eyes and quick temper, while some of the braver inhabitants of London dared to approach them … with disastrous results.

The rats were indeed hostile creatures, snapping at whom ever dared disturb them and even attacking the unfortunate souls that had the nerve to stand up to them. But it was not until the first dead mouse appeared on London Bridge that the panic emerged. Out of fear for their lives, mice started to leave their homes and move to the country were they hoped they could be safe from the rats.

She took a moment to think, and the words of a woman who just the other day canceled her order for raspberry pie came to hunt her back: _it is only a matter of time before you will be leaving this town too_.

It was clear then… they were moving out – probably to her mother's sister and her family in Sussex.

Slowly leaving the room in which her grandfather was working, she went to look around the kitchen, eyes falling on a couple of papers she nipped from the local magistrate when he was buying bread. Taking a coal from the heart, she began to sketch the outlines of a face.

Drawing had always calmed her.

Her heart ached at the thought of leaving the place she had known as 'home'. It hurt too much to know that she had to leave only because of some big old rats. It simply wasn't fair. Silently, she cursed the rats for all that they have done, both to her and to her parents.

Townspeople may think of her as a witch and treat her as an outcast, but she was no murderer.

She remembered the time with the bees. Those creatures never liked her, and she never liked them. It was simply bad for business. Plus, one of them tried to sting her. She remembered that she wished for it to die… and so did he…

**_That and more, little one…_**

The townspeople were more perceptive then they seemed. They have noticed that someone was with her, protecting her from the dark, whispering to her every step of the way. They would talk about it behind her back, muttering complaints concerning her eccentrics to her grandfather, but the old mouse – God bless his soul – never bid them any mind. Still, he could do little to protect her and could not always be there to stand up for her. _He _had always been with her and had always made her wishes come true – just like a dark guardian angel. The bees were proof enough for that. That day following the fire that had killed her parents, the insects had taken an odd liking to her. She simply had wanted them to leave her alone, but they wouldn't, until a whispery voice had told her to wish them death. She did… and they died.

Just like that.

The bees scared her, wanted to hurt her, to do her harm, and they were a threat for everyone around them. The bees deserved to die, and now so did the rats. They deserved to die. Maybe if she was to put more heart in her hate she could –

**_Yes… wish them death, my little one…_**

No, she couldn't. Not all rats were bad, just like not all mice were good. A good example was that rat that moved in from Ireland now a couple of months ago. This rat was good and kind and what more, he was an intellectual. When he had first introduced himself, he had said that he was a professor, yet to her, he was a miracle. His mind was an open one and more often than not she would seek out his company for a chat, or two. Over those months, she had taken a special liking to him and even if _he _did not approve, she found that she didn't mind. She liked the professor, very much so, and refused to believe that he would ever do anything to hurt her. He was proof that not every rat is evil, just like not every mouse is good.

**_You know that he will betray you in the end, do you not?_**

She refused to listen to _his _voice, which so clearly rang in her ears yet never seamed to reach those of another. She had faith in the professor, in his word and in his vow to protect her and her grandfather from harm. He had given them his word on that …

**_But he will not hold true to his word. He is a rat, after all, and no rat holds true to his word. _**

No… she refused to believe it. Not her professor, not him…

She looked at the face her hands had immortalized on paper without her knowing. It was smiling at him, as it always had, and with a small smile of her own she added a little sign in the bottom-right corner. She wanted to add a message as well, but first she had to learn how to write.

He promised her that he will teach her some day.

**_No rat keeps to his promises. He will betray you, you just wait little one. He will betray you and all you hold dear. The rat shall show his true colors soon, and I assure you, they are no different from the ones of the others…_**

She tried to cover her ears, but the whispers were still so clear. Yet she refused to believe. She trusted him, she had faith in him… she… she… loved him…

**_You shall see, little one, that I speak the truth. You shall see, oh… you shall see…_**and with that the voice faded away.

Suddenly, she heard movement in the other room. It sounded like someone had just opened the door, then something else – like crashing and then like… a meat cleaver slicing through meat.

And then, she heard her grandfather scream.

Before her brain could catch up with her body, she sprinted out of her hiding place and dashed back into the other room. What she saw then, broke her small heart into little pieces.

She tried to take in the sight before her, but she could not. The whispery voice had described to her such scenes before, yet to actually see it with her eyes… And the one who did this… was still there…

She heard the laugher, so much like his yet so unlike him… And then the one who killed her grandfather vanished in a blink of an eye. Yet she had seen him… he was there… he had done this… he had betrayed her…

And the voices were right, they had always been right.

**_Curse him, little one… curse him now! Make him suffer, make him feel pain! Come now little one, you have been betrayed! He betrayed you!_**

A fire started to burn inside of her. She could feel the flames come alive around of her, could feel her anger making it grow. Her eyes that not less then a moment ago held so much sorrow were filled with such hate that one would think she truly had the devil inside of her.

She could not believe it… This was… No… That was – that once was…

…Why had he done that?

**_Because he was only using you for his own sick enjoyment, of course. He betrayed you, just like I said he would. He doesn't care for you as I do. Only I care about you, little one. I am the only thing you can trust._**

Where was he? Where was the traitor that promised her that he would protect them?

"Grandfather…"

Where was that traitor? Where was he? WHERE WAS HE?!

**_That's it, little one… Hate him, curse him… wish him the cruelest of deaths…_**

The room suddenly became hot, so very hot… The roar of hungry flames echoed all around yet all the little mouse's eyes could see was what that rat left of her grandfather – a mouse that had done nothing to him. A mouse he, after he had given her his word, in such a barbaric way –

**_Curse him, my sweet! Wish him the most horrible fate you can ever think of! _**

She failed to notice the rat that came into the room.

**_Curse him! Now my dear! Surrender your soul to me, little one and let me destroy him! Let me make him suffer!!!_**

Why? Why had he betrayed them? Why had he betrayed _her_?

**_Let me out girl! Let me lose! Let me take lives, let me torture and let me kill! Come, girl! Entertain me!_**

She felt a presence behind of her. Turning around, she glared at her visitor.

**TRAITOR!!!!**

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You must understand dear reader that the documents that held vital information concerning the names, dates and locations have long since burned, misplaced or have vanished without a trace. Still, there still lies a story that is told from time to time around London, about a group of mice that gathered on one night of September the 2nd on the bank of the Themes River and watched with dread and sorrow as homes they once called their own were burned to the ground. Tale has it that among them, there were no rats at all, and that in the next following days bodies of the larger rodents have been found among the rumbles, all of them burned alive. It is said that among their bodies they had found that of an old mouse and of her granddaughter, both burned beyond recognition.

There is another legend that talked about a rat – one single rat, looked at the burning city, tears leaking from his eyes. Little did they know, that said legend, is not a legend at all.

Years after the event has taken place and London had been re-built, the same rat that was seen on the river bank on that 2nd of September oh so many years ago came back to a new London, safer and more modern then the one before, yet instead of fancy buildings and busy streets his eyes saw only flames and the heart-broken eyes of a young mouse. Then there was that voice, the voice that kept hunting him for years on end, words that kept repeating themselves over and over again, words that he heard long after the day he first died.

_"Curse you, rat… Curse you and all your kind… You twist the truth with lies and use one's heart for your own sick pleasure… Curse you, rat! Curse you all to hell! Your brothers now shall meet their doom, burned by the flames that they made me fear so. But not you, no, not you; you shall not find death nor peace here." _

The rat took out a little gold watch from the inner pocket of his traveling coat. It was very late. All that traveling and research had taken up a lot of his time, but one could not say that he did not know how to make the most of the un-normally long life he had been cursed with. But even so, all his life, had been a wasted life, and he knew it well.

Placing his watch back in his pocket, he took time to retrieve another object: a piece of old, yellow paper. He looked at it long and hard, just before looking back at the city.

They were all the same – the mice, that is. They were all such simpletons, such brainless creatures … and when he found one that seamed to have a mind of her own, she had proven him that she was just as them. Muttering a curse under his breath, he slipped the paper back into his pocket and with steady legs approached the city.

_"I shall now give you 100 deaths and 100 lives, to atone for your folly deeds, and if by the time you shall meet your last death you shall not find forgiveness from my eyes and love from a caring heart and share that love in return, then may you never find a place to hide or rest on this good earth, and no place to go to after your bodies will drop dead and turn to ash!"_

"100 deaths" the voice had said. He was quite certain that he was not so far away from that number, which meant that was little to no hope for him. Might as well go out with a bang, he thought, and made a silent vow that he was to have his revenge upon the society that destroyed the one mouse he had ever found worthy of his interest.

Yes, he was to destroy their perfect world and build a new one in its place with the voice as his only companion …

… that constant whisper in the dark.

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_Might as well admit it - I have without doubt lost my mind for writing this ... But no more about my questionable sanity! Just hope that this will be one fic I will finish.  
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_The prologue is set, but what of the story itself? Stay toned for answers and more questions as we proceed to chapter 1!  
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_Reviews always welcome and greatly appreciated!_


	2. Chapter one

**_Whispers in the Dark_**

**Chapter one**

**London 1897**

Doctor David Q. Dawson was, for the first time in months, enjoying his morning tea in peace. The feeling of hot liquid flowing down his throat was simply divine. Mrs. Judson was truly a gift from the gods. The old woman knew just how much to let the herbs boil in the water and what kind of cream would be absolutely ideal in each situation. Her tea was, in absolutely every aspect of the word, perfect.

After serving himself with a second cup of pure bliss, Dr. Dawson decided it was time he to start scanning the morning paper for something worthy of his interest. Hmm … It seems it is official: that stunt those students pulled yesterday during the New York state elections (1) got those three five years in county. Well, couldn't say that they weren't digging their own grave, as the expression goes. He paused his reading for another long slip of tea – simply divine. Very well, what else is new? Oh, dear, it seems poor old Patrick J. Tidwell (2) died not long ago. What a shame it is … And he was such a brilliant mouse. Taking another slip of his tea Dawson wondered how Basil was to take the physician's death. Some of those ruddy experiments his friend was using to solve his cases were based on Tidwell's theories.

And speaking of Basil … Dawson checked his watch – a bit past nine. Well, he taught it was a bit quiet this morning. Basil was usually up and about by this hour, breakfast done with and already working on some mystery or another. But then again – Dawson didn't even bother to hide his chuckle - it was 'that time of the month' again for his dear friend. Oh, what an adventure getting to the bottom of _that_ mystery had been.

It was not long after he finally moved in with Basil and Mrs. Judson in 221B Baker Street that he found the two occupants acting a bit … unusual – for them at least. When Dawson first arrived, both of the other occupants of the house seemed to constantly be on the edge; as if at any time they should be prepared for the very worse. Mrs. Judson was always double checking if all the windows and doors were locked up tight before going to bed and was always so very cautious with everyone who knocked on the door. He had missed this caution when he had first arrived with Olivia that summer evening, but now that he was looking at things from a completely different angle it was al pretty evident. He considered this caution of hers to be the result of life as the landlady of a famous consultant detective. It was sure that there were many people after Basil, especially after the young mouse's triumph over Professor Ratigan.

Dawson checked his pocket watch. Hmm … Almost a quarter past. Basil should be up any minute now, and luckily, not to check up on him like both he and Mrs. Judson used to.

He still couldn't quite believe that he didn't know what they were doing, especially when he had that constant feeling that he was being watched during the first few weeks of his stay. Of course, the taught had crossed his mind a couple of times but immediately dismissed it as absurd. It was not like two of London's busiest mice were making sure he wasn't up to something, now could they? They had no reason to do that.

But then again …. Basil _was_ London's best consulting detective. Studying people was practically his job. And Mrs. Judson, like the good landlady she was, made it her job to know everything that was going on in her house. Looking back now, he should have saw the signs …

But no, at that time Dawson found this to be highly unlikely. Both occupants knew that he was harmless. The good doctor was certain that he had never given them any reason to be suspicious of him. Nonetheless, they continued this routine of theirs for quite some time (at least, Dawson supposed that it was them), until finally Dawson noticed that that irritating feeling was slowly leaving him. Maybe he had just gotten used to it or who ever was watching him had gotten used to him. What ever it may have been, he could have sworn that the two other occupants of 221B were getting more and more comfortable with the doctor's presence in their vicinity.

Yes, things were looking better … At least until the good doctor noticed a few unusual developments concerning Basil's health.

He would have moments in which he was losing his voice. Dawson suggested that he should let him take a look at his throat if it was bothering him so, but Basil immediately dismissed him, claiming that he only needed a glass of water. The good doctor didn't like how his friend was trying to shove him off when he only watching over the health of the younger mouse, but it looked like he had no say in the matter.

Then there were the mood swings … There was a time when Dawson believed that there was no other mouse in London that could act quite like Basil. One moment he seems happy, the next he was falling into depression, and all that just because someone (Basil especially) was to say a silly thing like "we are all wearing a mask" or "life isn't fair, doctor".

Still, by far the most worrisome, in Dawson's opinion, was that Basil was suffering from stomach problems almost too often for the doctor's liking. About once a month he would suddenly announce that he didn't feel like taking any new cases for a certain period of time. Of course, Dr. Dawson believed that a break once in a while was in order, especially with the detective's busy schedule. But when he learned that "didn't feel like taking any cases" actually meant "too ill o move out of bed" he started to worry. But, yet again, both Basil _and_ Mrs. Judson declined Dawson's offer to check on the great mouse detective. Basil insisted it was just something he ate and that he would be all-right in a day or two of rest. That only worried Dawson more.

This routine continued for a good while until scarcely now two months ago Dawson had finally had enough. During one of Mrs. Judson's outings, Dawson decided to confront the younger mouse and actually threatened that he would tie him down to the bed and examine him from head to toe unless he was to tell him what was bloody wrong with him. Basil wasn't the only one that was surprised by the doctor's sudden decision to stick to his threats for once.

Still, what he found was the last thing he ever suspected.

Basil of Baker Street, the Great Mouse Detective … was … a woman.

"Dr. Dawson?"

Dawson was shaken out of his memories by the elderly voice of Mrs. Hudson. The old mouse was dressed in her finest Sunday clothes and was eying the doctor with a knowing gaze, as if she knew what was going on in his mind.

"Daydreaming again, aren't we now, Doctor?" A cheeky grin was dancing on her features, and Dawson found himself blushing in embarrassment.

"Oh … Good morning, Mrs. Judson! My, you look lovely this morning. Off to Sunday mass, I presume?"

"Spot-on, Doctor. I'm just waiting for my ride and then I'll be leaving you two 'men' alone till past noon. Hope I can count on you to keep my most horrible tenant from blowing up the apartment while I'm gone? Oh, and make sure that she will at least stay off her feet this morning and doesn't forget to take her medicine? These days are hell for her and she feels it, but knowing her, I would not dream of trusting her with the welfare of her body."

Dawson couldn't stop himself from laughing aloud at the irony of it all. "I'm pretty sure I can convince her to leave those chemicals of hers' alone till your return, but I make no promises. I swore to myself a long ago that I will never again force dear Sherry to do things she doesn't wish to do. God knows, my knee still troubles me from time to time since last time."

She chuckled. "Oh my goodness, doctor! I swear …" She shock her head. She remembered that 'last time' all too clearly. It was one of the moments in whish Mrs. Judson had truly been overwhelmed by dread.

She had just got home from her weekly trips to the marked when she had been greeted by the sound of breaking glass and some of the most heart-wretched creams she had ever heard. Although not often heard, she knew that voice, and in an instant she was upstairs. In the hall, she had met with Dr. Watson, whom seamed to be nursing a wounded knee and one blackened eye. She was prepared to ask what has happened but once she her eyes had fallen on the trembling shape of one Sherringford Basil, looking at the doctor with a look of pure horror written on her face and bathrobe falling loosely on her shoulders, there were few things that were keeping Mrs. Judson from blackening the doctor's other eye.

"Doctor, I must admit that I keep blaming myself for that particular event." At Dawson's confused gaze, she elaborated. "If only I would have stayed home, then maybe … maybe …"

"Mrs. Judson, I hope you are not serious about this. This had nothing to do with you and you know it very well. I know it must be hard to be at peace with the idea, but you can't take care of her all the time. She's a grown woman, after all, and can very well take after herself."

"I know that Doctor, but … Dr. Watson, you saw for yourself how fragile and frightened she can be."

The Doctor seamed to ponder at her words then. It was odd to put "fragile" and "frightened" in the same sentence as "Sherringford Basil", or even "Sherry" as both he and Mrs. Judson had playfully named her. But truth was that thinking of Basil as simply a woman was odd in itself, so he shouldn't be so surprised any more.

"You are right as always, Mrs. Judson. It is just hard for me to get used to the idea, is all. After the Flavisham case, I guess I started picturing Basil as one of those indestructible characters you find in those adventure novels. Quite foolish of me, I must say."

"You mean to say that I am not? Why doctor, I feel insulted." A voice called out from the kitchen door. The doctor just shock his head in amusement when the sight of none other then Mr. … that is, Miss Basil of Baker Street sat there, a pile of files in hand, already dressed in her usual Inverness coat and cap as if she was ready to go. This, of course, seemed to immensely displease Mrs. Judson.

"Miss Basil! What in heaven's name are you doing out of bed!" Mrs. Judson scolded as the younger mouse just waved her off and took a seat besides Dawson, serving herself with a biscuit. Mrs. Judson continued her lecture nonetheless. "If I tolled you once I've tolled a thousand times: if your body asked of you to stay in bed then you are to stay in bed."

"It just so happens, Mrs. Judson, that my body had asked of me to stay _out_ of bed for a change. I swear, at times you can be such a mother hen …"

"Better me then nobody at all! And what's with all these papers. I swear that if I have to drag you away from your study one more time to get you to eat I'll ban you from those chemicals of yours. Plus, it's Sunday, for heavens sake!"

"Calm yourself Mrs. Judson. These are just some files Inspector Vole has asked me to deliver to him this morning. It seems one of his men misplaced his copies and needs mine in order to fill out his report to his superiors. Quite typical if you are to ask me." Said Basil as she took a slip of tea. A moment later, she was back on hear feat and stared moving towards the front door.

"And now, if you two shall excuse me, I must be on my way. Mustn't keep the inspector wait now, can we?"

"Miss Basil!"

But it was too late, for just as soon as she appeared, Basil of Baker Street was gone.

"Uhhh … I swear, that girl is going to cause me to go gray before my time!"

The doctor merely smiled. Now was clearly not the time that she was already turning gray. Turning around, he headed toward the window and watched as his friend called Toby, climb on the dog's back then vanish from sight.

Still … When had she had time to send for Toby _and _find those files? He knew for certain that finding papers in that jungle she calls "her records" is clear suicide.

That is, unless she stayed up all night again. And he was ready to bet that she forgot to take her medicine …

He sighted. Well, that was Sherringford Basil for you.

"Well, she is a difficult child to get along with, quite impossible at times, but she knows her job and she knows it well … though I will admit that she needs to learn some better form of self-preservation. This lack of care for her own health and … God, when I tried to reason with her – very well: when I tried to reason with 'him' I almost lost an eye and dislocated my knee! You would have said I was trying to rape her with the way she started to scream bloody murder!"

Mrs. Hudson, all traces of irritation gone from her features, took a deep breath before speaking.

"You know Doctor, I could guarantee you that is precisely what she was thinking."

"I beg your pardon?!"

At Dawson's look of pure outrage, the landlady chuckled a bit before her face became clouded with sadness. Dr Dawson was a good man, but he could be so dense at times.

"You must understand, Doctor, that life for woman in this city is not easy – especially for woman who live alone. And I speak from experience!" There was a pause. "You see, after my dear husband died, I found just how cruel life can be. We – my daughter and I that is – didn't have any means of proper income. I was working as a governess at the time but that was hardly enough when you hade two mouths to feed and a house so big to take care of. My daughter tried to find work to help with the expenses, of course, but … there are not too many things a woman can do in our society. She was not smart enough to become a teacher and had little patience with children so a nanny or a governess was out of the question. And then I lost my job once my charges were sent to boarding school …" She sighted. "I guess it's safe to say that life was very hard for us. Eventually, my daughter found a job as a maid at a hotel, but it was too much work and too little pay. And the people around us always tried to take advantage of us – be it our money, our groceries or …"

Dr. Dawson was sure he could see tears forming in her eyes.

"Well … no matter. All that's been done is in the past, as my dear Ken used to say. Anyway, eventually my little girl grew up and left to build a home with the mouse she chose for a husband and now with all the extra rooms available upstairs I decided to start renting them out to make a fair penny. Far better then working in one of those confounded factories from sunrise till dusk.

"Not soon after I started renting, 'Mr. Basil' appeared on my doorstep. He looked like something that was dragged threw Hell and back and had only a few shillings in his pocket at the time. Of course, at the time, I couldn't refuse renting 'him' a room, given the fact that I was pretty much penniless myself and 'he' was promising me at least some sort of income. And the simple taught of a man in the house made me feel slightly safer somehow. How wrong could I have been …

"But you already know this story. You know how I had my suspicions at first and how I stumbled upon her secret when I was spring cleaning and found some things that I still refuse to mention in the presence of a man – we still have our pride you know – and what was my reaction to it all." Dawson nodded. "To pretend to be a man … That was certainly not the proper way a lady should act! I had a good mind at the time to kick her out of my house. Nearly did it too when she practically demanded I tell no-one that Mr. Basil of Baker Street was actually a Miss Basil of baker Street. But I still needed the money, so I decided to let her stay until I had enough money stashed away to last me for a while. But as time went by, I became fascinated with young Miss Basil. She was doing things, saying things – things my daughter and I could never do because we were woman. But she could, and she did. It was amazing Doctor. I saw her beat the system. A lady, a woman, was beating the system. She could do what she wished, when ever she wished, and nobody would question her for it. And she was safe doctor, safe from prejudices and safe from stalking eyes. She was simply … free!"

Dawson smiled. Seeing Mrs. Judson so excited was just too precious. The landlady then took a biscuit for herself and borrowed Dawson's newspaper so she could scan the morning's news.

"I know you cannot fully understand us Doctor, but we do what we can to survive. My daughter married a mouse and let go of her freedom in order to stay safe from the outside world and hard labor – her husband is protecting her. I was willing to let a complete stranger into my house because that could have kept me safe from all that madmen that are roaming around the streets – 'Mr. Basil' is protecting me. And now Miss Basil is willing to take the part of a man in order to hide her fragility and keep her freedom at the same time. She does this, because she has nobody else to protect her. And I do not count, honey."

She continued scanning the papers, until her eyes caught sight of something that brought a knowing smile on her face.

Dawson was not ready to give up on the argument just yet. Looking at the pile of letters they received this morning, he pulled one out asked the landlady: "What of her brother? Isn't he offering her protection?"

Her reaction to those words was definitely not what he expected.

"Ha! Myerricroft Basil is the one that needs protection. If you ask me, that mouse is more like an object then a person – probably an encyclopedia by what Miss Basil is telling me, but an object nonetheless. And something tells me that he's actually encouraging this masquerade of hers."

"Mrs. Judson …"

"I'm sorry, Doctor, but he truly would care for her he would never have left her face this world alone. Do you have any idea of how she looked when she landed on my doorstep? Half starved and with only a small suitcase that was half empty as it was. She had to build her live from scratch! And not once, since she'd started living here, had she ever received a visit from him." The landlady was just about fuming at the moment, witch made Dawson quite nervous.

"But … they had kept in touch, and she trusts him with her life –" he tried to argue.

"Of course she trusts him." she shot back. "He's her brother, for havens sake! If she is to ask for help, he will undoubtedly help her, of that I am sure. But I know what men like Myerricroft Basil do: he'll help her only if she will ask for help and if he believes she needs help. But that won't do with our Miss Basil. No sir! Miss Basil needs someone that can actually be there for her whatever she would want him there or not; she someone that can make her feel safe without asking for help. What she needs Doctor, is a man of her own." She declared finally, folding the paper then throwing it back on the table.

Dawson was staring at the landlady dumbly, blinking once, twice, and then finally braking down into fits of uncontrollable laughter.

"Easier said then done, my dear Mrs. Judson." Said Dawson when he was once again able to breath. "You and I both know that _that_ is never going to happen. Our dear Sherry getting married … Dear sweet Mrs. Judson, are you sure you haven't been adding a few drops of brandy to your morning tea?"

"Why of all the cheek!" she said as she playfully smacked the doctor's arm with her handbag. "You may laugh all you want doctor, but that continues to be my opinion! She deserved to have someone look after her! After all she's been threw, she deserves some peace."

"After all she's been threw Mrs. Judson, she will not give up on her freedom now. You forget, Miss Basil is a free spirit – you said so yourself – and being bonded in marriage is certainly not her style."

At those words, the landlady's eyes took on a devious glow, like she was knowing something he wasn't. That confused Dawson, but when he wanted to voice out his thoughts, there was a knock at the door.

"Oh my, that must be my ride. Well doctor, do have a nice day. Oh, and I do believe taking a better look at today's paper may answer any other questions you may have concerning our … previous discussion." That being said, she winked at the older mouse, then with as few moves as possible, she was out of the house.

Dr. Dawson could certainly not remember an odder discussion then the one he had just had. What did she mean by that? There was nothing in the paper to explain anything of what had just happened. And what was with that look in her eyes? Gods, she must have spent too much time with Basil. May angels protect him from impossible women …

Still, experience had taught him that woman, as odd as they sometimes were, were mostly right. Picking up this morning again and dusting his spectacles for a better view, he started scanning the pages once more.

Cold winds coming from the continent … some political gibberish … Honestly, it would have been easier if he actually knew what he was looking for! Robbery at some Lord's house … murder at … Well hello there!

_Last night, Sir Henry Richfield has been found dead in his study by his wife, Lady Amelia Richfield. Police officials claimed, when questioned by the press, that the death of Sir Henry was not accidental and that they already had a list of suspects prepared. It has later been confirmed by the Metropolitan Police spokesman that "Chief-Inspector Vole of Scotland Yard is currently the in charge of this investigation and is currently working in direct collaboration with Detective Inspector Clawes of the Metropolitan Police". When the two have been personally questioned by the press in the morning, Chief-Inspector Vole declared that the culprit had already been apprehended and that a spokesman shall make the proper declarations at lunch. When questions if the Yard had received the assistance of Basil of Baker Street, Chief-Inspector Vole declared that this case has been solved exclusively by the London Police Force and that no help from the outside had been needed, asked or received. Detective Inspector Clawes on the other hand, declared that although London's consulting detective was not called on the case, the investigation team saw fit to use his methods in order to solve this case." For that alone, we are grateful to Mr. Basil and I for one hope to have the chance to tell him that myself. Basil of Baker Street truly is a brilliant mouse and I do believe that we would be real fools not to follow his example when it comes to solving cases – at least from time to time._

Detective Inspector Clawes … Now this was an interesting lad, taught Dawson with a grin. He remembered that Basil was often talking about him as of late, naming him "the smartest of the Yarders". Such word of praise coming from Basil … Remarkable! Yet this young man seamed to have caught his friend's attention, and by extension, Mrs. Judson's and now Dawson's. Suddenly, he realized what the landlady meant.

It was odd that Basil would be up so early on one of her more delicate days just to be off to the Yard to deliver some files. Usually, she would wait for an officer of Vole himself was to come banging on her door and ask for the files personally.

Dawson put the paper aside then relaxed in his armchair.

It certainly was a long shot, or no shot at all for that matter, but after the discovery of one mouse's true gender, Dawson decided that nothing was impossible any more. Plus, the prospect of playing matchmaker was quite appealing.

* * *

(1) reference to the 1879 New York state election that was held on November 4, 1879, to elect the Governor, the Lieutenant Governor, the Secretary of State, the State Comptroller, the Attorney General, the State Treasurer and the State Engineer, as well as all members of the New York State Assembly and the New York State Senate. The incident with the students is pure fiction.

(2) reference to James Clerk Maxwell (13 June 1831 – 5 November 1879), a Scottish theoretical physicist and mathematician. Since most of the GMD seem to have their human counterparts I decided to add in one as well for pure fun ^^

* * *

_Well .... at least now the reader knows ... and Dawson seems to be acting his age. And it seems Mrs. Judson doesn't like the elder brother of the Basil family. But at least Basil manages to stay the same no matter what. And that in mind, one could only wonder what shall await her at the Yard. Knowing Basil, it most certainly will be something that will complicate things._

_More answers and questions in chapter two!_

_Reviews always welcome and greatly appreciated!_


	3. Chapter two

**_Whispers in the Dark_**

**Chapter two  
**

"Easy there Toby! Remember, no running today or both Mrs. Judson and Dr. Dawson are going to have my head. You know how they can act like the perfect pair of mother hens."

The Basset Hound left out a joyful bark at his little master's words as he slowed down. Even if he felt that it was a shame not to run around now that he was finally out of the house, Toby couldn't complain. His little master finally got him out of that boring apartment he shared with his human master and took him out for a walk, after all. For Toby, this was quite a treat. His human master had little time to see to the pup's needs of fresh air and companionship, so Toby was glad to accept any form of freedom and company and his little master was offering him just that. Plus, it was all so fun walking around town with the little mouse seated on his back, especially when Miss Basil was to pat him on the head or nose for a "job well done". He felt so proud when being praised – it was a feeling just as heavenly pleasant as the one of being needed.

Well, at least that's according to Toby.

Basil of Baker Street smiled as the hound started moving slower. It was just so easy talking to this particular dog. But then again, ever since they first met, she knew Toby was something special. Unlike any other dog she had trained, this dog was something special. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but she just knew that her bond with Toby was something a bit more different than that of a dog and its trainer. And that is why she felt that she could always count on Toby.

"Good boy, Toby. Nice and slow is the way to go." She said, patting her canine friend on the head. "Now, we just turn this corner here and we're there."

True to her word, after a few more steps, they were at the police section.

Good, thought Basil, the sooner I get this over with, the better.

It was not that she didn't enjoy getting on the yarder's nerves, but there were times when she felt out of place down at the station. When the guys would start complaining about something their wives said or wanted, or when they would invite him to have a couple of glasses of ale with them after solving a particularly difficult case (for them at least) instead of going out with – let's say – their families, she just felt… well, she guessed that the doctor had once said that the feeling was called "hurt", but to this day she still did not quite understand how someone could be hurt when there was nothing physically wrong with their body.

"Bark!" Toby barked, announcing their arrival. She smiled.

Still, whatever was that feeling she felt whenever the boys would start acting… as they did, that was not the only reason why she didn't like spending more time than it was completely necessary at the Yard. One other reason, and probably a better reason, took the shape of one Chief-Inspector Vole.

The Chief-Inspector was by no means a fool. He was a bright man and an accomplished police officer, yet he tended to overlook things one time too many during an investigation, thus drawing the wrong conclusion. In her opinion, that superficial way of his to solve a case was way below his actual capacities, and that unnerved her to no end. If a man is good is something, then why doesn't he do it right? This is precisely the reason why she made it her mission to keep the older mouse on his toes by taunting and making a fool out of him when she considered that doing so would stimulate him. It was quite interesting how a few words thrown at the right time would transform Vole into a raging bull – in the right sort of way, of course.

Still… she did not enjoy taunting the inspector. True, she was happy with the result, yet that didn't mean she liked the method.

And then there was Detective Inspector Clawes…

The young detective was most certainly a man like no other she had ever had ever met before. She learned from the other officers that he attended medical school, but dropped out of it because of certain family issues. The medical world had truly lost an excellent doctor, but at least Scotland Yard received a proper future, for people like Clawes represent the future. A practitioner of deduction and reasoning, applying his own medical knowledge, scientific experience, and logic methodology in his own cases, Clawes is quite "something else". And to top it all off, he was quite good looking as well…

… Now where did that come from?

Climbing off Toby, Basil – still lost in her own thoughts – lost her balance when her feet touched the pavement. Toby immediately moved to catch her, eying his little master with concern.

"Oh, I hate these days." She muttered to herself while moving to gather up the papers she had dropped. "These blasted hormones are turning my brain to mush…" She got to her feet and counted her files. When she was sure she had them all, she turned to Toby, the dog still watching her with a hint of worry. Basil just laughed. "Thank you, Toby, and don't you dare worry about me too. I get enough of that from my doctor and landlady."

The dog smiled and wagged his tale. This was more like his little master.

"Good boy." Basil said, patting his nose. The next moment, Toby's long tongue moved to lick her cheek, yet succeeded to cover half of her in dog drool. "Yuck! Toby!" exclaimed Basil and moved to clean herself as Toby started jumping playfully around her.

"No Toby! Heel! This is not the time for games." Toby halted, clearly disappointed. At this, Basil sighed. Confounded! "Toby, I just have to deliver these papers to Inspector Vole and then I'll be right back out and then I'll take you to the park near Baker Street where you can chase after cats and play with the squirrels. Happy?"

Leaving a very excited and cheerful Basset Hound behind her, Basil entered the police station.

Then almost immediately wished she didn't.

"There he is! Mr. Basil, what is your take on the police's prompt response to last night's murder?"

"Mr. Basil, has your opinion of the London police force changed in any way?"

Oh yes… reporters… any sane person's worse nightmare – besides lawyers, of course. They were quite a puzzle, these people: they always knew when and where to be exactly at the time when you last needed them and this particular lot never seemed to miss a chance to get her interview, most annoying, if you were to ask her. But what puzzled Basil the most about these creatures was how they could talk faster than a horse could gallop.

"Come now, Mr. Basil – two words for the press." Chirped in a mouse, elbowing the others out of his way. Yes, reporters were the most annoying of creatures.

Just then, her keen eyes caught sight of a certain gray mouse coming out to check what all the commotion was all about. Upon laying eyes on the mouse that was currently the press's center of attention, Inspector Vole of Scotland Yard grinned.

Well, someone certainly was having fun at her expense. It was time to remedy that.

Pretending not to notice the older mouse, Basil turned back to the press, a look of pure innocence on her features.

"Very well, I shall say two words for the press." She said in a smooth, steady voice, like she was about to talk about one of the dullest things imaginable. She closed her eyes briefly, turning slightly in the general direction of the inspector. Once she opened them she caught the inspector sending her a suspicious glance, as if he was telling her that he knew what she was doing. At that, she could barely keep down a chuckle.

"Inspector Vole!" she exclaimed all of the sudden, putting up one of her best masks of 'surprise'. Needles to say, that averted all the reporters' attention towards the Chief of Scotland Yard, making said inspector gawk then send the consulting detective a look of absolute loath just before his line of view had been blocked by a mouse who started jumping right in front of him, and then another… and another, all of which were asking questions all at once, notebooks in hand and pencils scribbling furiously.

This clearly was not what he was expecting.

"You shall receive all the answers you seek from our spokesman at today's press conference at noon. Please have a little more patience until then! Constable, hold the door!"

And that is precisely the reason why reporters were such dangerous creatures.

"Thank you constable… That was a close call…" said the inspector once he was safe and sound in his office. Never will he personally go and check on the commotion caused by reporters, and even if by some miracle he would forget that, he most definitely will never forget to run if said commotion was caused by reporters interrogating a certain consulting detective.

"You are most welcome, inspector, yet you needn't call me 'constable'." A smooth voice said from his left. Eyes the size of chicken eggs, Vole spun around, only to meet the sight of Basil of Baker Street taking off a police cap (where did he get that?!) and placing it on a nearby desk (his desk!) along with a stack of files he was holding. "Just curious though, what did you think I was going to tell them? 'Shut up', 'Get lost' or maybe something more… degenerate, like… 'Shove off' was the correct saying, was it not?"

"Mr. Basil!" shouted the inspector just as the other mouse took a seat in the chair the inspector usually reserved for any guests he might have. My, someone was quite cranky this morning.

"Yes, Inspector?" she responded, faking a look of complete interest.

At that, the inspector looked like he was close to blowing up like a active volcano, but he just closed his eyes, took a deep breath, counted to ten, paced the room, then, in a steady voice, said: "Mr. Basil, did you bring the files I asked for?"

Quite the professional.

"Indeed I did, Inspector!" she said, pointing to the files that lay on the desk. Eagerly, Vole picked them up then started looking over them.

She took this moment to look around the office and immediately decided that if Mrs. Judson was to lay eyes on papers scattered all around the floor and worktable she would have a stroke.

Turning back to the inspector, she noticed how the anticipation in his eyes had faded rapidly, being replaced by exhaustion. Disappointed, he dropped the files back on the desk, rubbing his eyes with a hand.

"Good… Thank you Mr. Basil. We appreciate your assistance in this case." He said diplomatically, but there was more than that in his statement. To the consultant detective's ears, it sounded almost like he was… defeated.

It was time to investigate things a little further.

"Are they not the files you requested?" she asked. "I know my landlady keeps complaining about the mess in my study, but –" Vole shook his head.

"No, it is not that. These are the right files… It's just that- "

"- they do not hold the answers you have been looking for, is that it?" Vole just looked at her for a moment before nodding.

"Just curious, inspector…" she made a pause, only to monitor the other mouse's reaction. He seemed to have already started counting. "What is going on? Not that I would mind taking a guess, as your predecessor used to say, but I fear that I don't quite have sufficient data in order to establish a valid conclu–"

"Do go along and guess, Mr. Basil." Vole interrupted, taking a seat himself. He sighed. "I know that you're actually jumping at the chance to 'guess' as you said my predecessor had so eloquently put it. If you wish so, then please do. At this very moment I would not mind… Not anymore… Oh, and I assure you that whatever you come up with won't be that far away from the truth – data or no data."

Something was most certainly wrong.

"This is about the murderer you apprehended last night." It was not a question, and Vole did not appear at all surprised.

"Spot on, as always Mr. Basil. I did tell you that you wouldn't be that far off from the truth." He said with a smile, but it was a hollow smile, a tired smile. "Tell me, Mr. Basil – how much, do you know about last night's murder."

"Not much, I shall admit. I only had a couple of moment to peak at the headlines of today's newspaper before coming here. Though from what I managed to deduce from the presence of all those reporters out there, I taught that you had it solved. Now that I look at you, I can tell that is not quite the truth."

"Right again, Mr. Basil. Is there anything else you'd be willing to deduce?"

"Would love to, but in this situation I do believe it would help you more if you would tell someone about this problem instead of hearing it coming from someone else. Talking from past experience, I know that sometimes it's best to have someone there just to listen to your problems, otherwise they would continue to bottle up inside you and would eventually eat you from the inside out."

Inspector Vole looked shocked. "You're acting very thoughtful this morning, Basil. Usually you wouldn't dare miss an opportunity to make me feel like an incompetent fool. Why the sudden change of heart?"

"Why the sudden change of faith?" she shot right back at him, but inside, she was asking herself the same thing. "I know you think of me as a heartless bastard most of the times, and I won't say that I'm not one, but even I don't have it in me to kick a man while he's down. It would simply be bad form on my part. Plus, you have yet to call me 'Mr. Bassu' yet and that in all deserves a little reward." She finished with a wink.

Vole had to smile. "Well… I may hate to admit it, but I guess you're right. You always are – one way or another." He took a deep breath and then, in a low almost whispery voice, began his tale. "We did, indeed managed to apprehend Sir Henry's killer. It was the gardener by the way, though something tells me you already know that. It appears Sir Henry caught him stealing from the kitchen and fired him that day. Unable to take the shame of having to return to his family without a job, he tried to convince Sir Henry to take him back. Unable to convince him, he killed him in a moment of madness – with his bare hands, may I add. Afterwards, he tried to flee town but Inspector Clawes managed to apprehend him at the train station. How he figured it out it was him, I have no idea, but then again, he takes after you." This caused Basil to snort a bit, but she did not dare interrupt the inspector.

"What worries us though is what took place after we transported him to prison. Once in his cell, he started talking to himself. Nobody took any notice of that until the guard who was on duty informed us that the prisoner was claiming that someone was in the room with him and wished to kill him. Of course, the guard told him that he was placed in an isolated cell and that having someone in there with him was highly unlikely. That was when he demanded one of us to come up and talk to him. Annoyed beyond the limit, both Inspector Clawes and I went to talk to him – just to give him a piece of our mind. But when he got there… Mr. Basil, if I didn't know better I would have said that the man was possessed. Never in my life have I seen a creature so frightened. He started shouting – screaming that we had to do something. He said that we must protect the girls, if my memory serves. When Clawes asked what he was talking about, the man literally jumped at him. The guard and I barely managed to get him off of Clawes, and when we did, he just… "

Basil waited, and waited, but the inspector didn't continue. The chief of Scotland Yard looked old… and afraid.

"Inspector? What happened to the man?"

He did not answer at once, and Basil didn't push him. But after waiting for a response for almost three minutes Basil decided it was time to ask again. But just as she opened her mouth, Vole simply said: "He burned…"

Maybe she heard that wrong. "Excuse me, Inspector, but I do believe that I misunderstood you. Are you trying to say that he somehow set fire to himself? Or was it somebody else's doing?"

And when we tried to put the fire out…" He suddenly rose and started pacing the room to cool his head. It didn't really help much. "In all my years as a police officer Mr. Basil, I have never seen such a thing. There was nothing – absolutely nothing – that could have triggered such a thing. Both I and Inspector Clawes double checked everything that could have triggered a fire. We found nothing. And if he had something on him – which is even less likely – then I fail to understand what exactly that something could have been."

"That is why you asked me to bring you Lord Blackwood's files, because he too had used an apparently inexplicable fire to kill."

"Indeed, Mr. Basil. Only it seems our man didn't use the same method… I lied, Mr. Basil. My boys didn't lose his files. I have only hoped that your files contained something different. But it seems my hopes were in vain…" He started pacing again. "Mr. Basil… is it possible for someone to catch fire after he'd been searched from head to toe, disposed of his clothes, washed and scrubbed to the skin (well, after we saw what he did to his former master and considering all the odd cases we had in the last years we decided not to take any risks, sir) and at the moment of the… you know… there were no sparks, no candles or any other chemicals or other substances nearby and all in all nothing that could trigger something like that?"

Basil sat in her chair, lost in though. What the inspector was asking her, no matter what scenarios her mind could conjure, had only one answer, one which the inspector would most certainly not like to hear at the present time.

"I just know I'm going to be sent to Mauston… The superintendent is just dying for a chance to see me out of here and this is just perfect for him!"

"Inspector… Have you done an autopsy yet?" she asked hurriedly, hoping for the sake of the inspector that she could give him at least a bit of hope.

"Would if we could, but it so happens that there was nothing left of him to dissect."

"He was burned that bad?"

"Depends how you see that. After the flames died down there was simply nothing left of him. Even the bones burned… There was simply… nothing left"

Very well… now she could understand the reasons for the inspector's dark mood. She could just imagine what a stress this must be for the inspector, especially with a crowd of reporters standing watch at his door. If word got out, then his good name, as well as the name of the Metropolitan Police could be at risk.

"What is Inspector Clawes's opinion on the matter?"

"He has none. Last I saw him he was at a loss, as am I. He went to speak with the… victim's relatives. The incinerated one's, that is. Standard procedure and all that, you know. He should be back any- "

"Vole! You won't believe this! And what are all those people still doing out… there… Oh, good morning Mr. Basil!"

"… minute now."

Well… talk about synchronization! It's like they rehearsed that…

"Good morning, Inspector Clawes" said Basil, shaking the extended hand of the young inspector who had so 'gracefully' burst through the door. "Inspector Vole and I were just discussing the appearance of a few… setbacks concerning last night's victory over evil."

Inspector Clawes, a mouse who always took pride in his appearance, looked even more tired than even Inspector Vole. Despite his exhaustion however, he still managed to offer her a smile.

"Yes, nasty business it is. I do hope that this did not ruin your morning. It certainly had ruined ours."

"And something tells me that it is not just the morning, judging from your… charming appearances."

"I fear that you are right… As always."

Basil had never seen the two inspectors quite so out of it. She almost wanted to shake them both or at least slap them to see them get back to their senses. But at the same time, she found it hard to actually do so, for even if a small part of her brain was screaming at her to do something to get them out of depression, another part of her brain, the bigger part of it, was too busy processing all the data she had just received. How she wished she brought her pipe with her.

"Well, from what I heard, you two are facing quite a predicament at the moment. As a consulting detective, I am willing to offer you my assistance in the matter. This case has already sparked my interest so even if you would offer me no pay for my services I would still take no hesitation to – what was that expression you use Inspector? Oh yes! To 'stick my big nose into other people's bloody business'."

Clawes laughed full-heartedly at that. Vole chose to show his amusement in another fashion.

"Think you can do better than the police, don't you Mr. Bassu? Well, we will like to see you try. After all, if you do not succeed, then I will have the honor of labeling this case as 'the one that Bassu couldn't solve'. Even if I'll be replaced because of it, the thought will just make it all the more bearable."

"I thank you for your note of confidence, Inspector." She responded humorously.

"Quite. And for heaven's sake man, be more considerate with your language! What if there was a lady in the room?"

_If only you knew, Inspector…_

"Now, unless you have anything else for me, I shall be taking my leave. As eager as I am to inspect the scene of the crime, I must admit that I left my magnifying glass at home and –" She just managed to rise from her chair when a wave of dizziness washed over her. For a moment, her vision blackened and she could feel her legs giving up on her. She sat back down and massaged her temples, waiting for her vision to clear. She truly hated these days.

"Mr. Basil, are you quite alright?" At the mention of her name, Basil raised her head. It was clear that Inspector Clawes had been the one to ask her about her welfare. The younger inspector was always fussing over other people's health. But she did not expect to see the same worried expression written on Inspector Vole's features as well.

This was definitely the last time she was skipping breakfast.

"I'm perfectly fine gentlemen. I just got up too quickly, is all." Vole seemed to buy her story, yet for some reason, Clawes was not quite so eager to let it go. Honestly, the man was just as bad as Dawson!

"Are you sure, Mr. Basil?" he asked once she was on her feet and straightening her coat.

"Quite sure, Inspector Clawes. Now, if you two will excuse me, I shall be on my way. Oh, but do expect me to drop by later to inspect the cell. Until then, I bid you good morning!"

That being said, she put on her cap, walked towards the door… passed the door… opened the window… then jumped out?

"I swear… that mouse is going to drive me up the walls one day with his eccentrics." Vole muttered, shaking his head. "But one must admire his brains. I tell you Clawes, if that man would only have chosen a career with the Yard he could have been one of the best officers in the force by now, if he could only stick to traditional means. Still, I must admit that given the present situation climbing out the window may not be such a bad escape– Clawes, what are you doing?"

One leg sticking out the window, Clawes simply said: "I'm going to accompany Mr. Basil for a while if you wouldn't mind, Inspector. There's something I need to ask him."

"Something that can't wait till he gets back?"

"Precisely. Mr. Basil, wait for me!" And with that, he was off.

Inspector Vole stood for a long time simply staring at the open window, completely stunned. He was never going to understand youngsters.

Some time before that, on the other side of town a mouse was chewing tobacco in front of a bakery. Nothing out of the ordinary one would say, but then nobody was hearing his silent mutterings of "and then you'll let me go?" and "you promise?".

_**Yes… You have my word, young man. Do as I ask and I shall let you live.**_

Hearing voices – they say – is never a good sign. Listening to them however, was an even worse sign.

_**Here she comes…**_

The mouse looked up. Out of the bakery came a girl with vivid green eyes holding a basket of baguettes. Taking no notice of the other mouse, she started arranging them on the stand.

_**Now, do exactly what I told you, exactly as I told you. **_

Taking a deep breath, the mouse got to his feet, then took out a knife out of his pocket.

Not long after Basil and Clawes left, Inspector Vole was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

* * *

_Poor Vole ... it's hard not to feel sorry for him. But it seems Basil has knows how to handle desperate cases. Still, what did Clawes find? Will it shed some light into all this madness, or will it only make things more complicated then they already are?_

_For the answers to all your questions and more, we shall meet again in the next chapter!_

_Reviews always welcome and greatly appreciated!_


	4. Chapter three

**_Whispers in the Dark_**

**Chapter three  
**

"There ya' go, sir. Two paper wraps of me' own fish 'n chips for ya'. Wants some vinegar with that?"

"No, thank you very much sir. I like mine's simple."

Trust the inspector to think about others first and then of himself.

Detective Inspector Clawes was a relatively simple man with relatively simple needs, but when it came to other Clawes by now means in a relatively simple fashion. Being a police officer, he could not say that he had a pretty income, especially with a comatose mother and monthly rent to pay; but he learned how to manage with the little he had. He learned how to sew so he could fix his clothes and would often do some handiwork for the shoemaker as pay for his services. Needles to say, that last arrangement worked quite well for both parties – for the shoemaker having less work to do in the house and for Clawes himself because he was left with a couple of extra pounds in his pocket for just such an occasion.

"Fish and chips, Mr. Basil? I recon nothing could warm a decent Englishman better then one of these on such fine weather."

Basil snorted. 'Such fine weather' indeed… When she visited the fish market a couple of days ago to search for the missing son of some rich merchant a salesmouse had said something along the lines of "if winter ain't here yet then it's definitely commin'".

So said a man that practically lived his days in one of the coldest places of London.

"Inspector Clawes" said she "I would rather you not spend your entire wager on silly snacks, especially if you plan on offering them to someone else. Plus, you know that those things are bad for your health." Still, her refusal only seemed to make Clawes more determined.

"Come now, Mr. Basil. Fish and chips hardly cost anything, and they most certainly are not bad for yer health… as long as you don't eat too much of 'em that is."

Basil rolled her eyes, but accepted the fish anyway. She didn't think much of fish and chips (she considered it to be a 'too human' of a treat and most definitely did nothing good for one's physical appearance) but she knew she needed something in her stomach after her scene in Inspector Vole's office. Apparently, skipping too many meals at a time was – as Dawson had told her time and again – not a good idea.

"Thank you, Inspector." She said, opening the bag.

"You're most welcome, Mr. Basil. But you know, you really shouldn't skip your meals. Now that is most certainly not healthy." Clawes said after he swallowed a chip. "And thank you for what you did back there. It was very thoughtful of you."

"There is no need to thank me, Inspector. I never backed away from a good mystery and this particular one proves to be most intriguing. A shame I remembered that I had my magnifying glass with me after leaving Inspector Vole's office. The old man might have wanted to come."

Clawes nearly choked on his fish. "What are you talking about? You've already been to county?"

"Of course I was. Once I discovered that I already had all I needed on me I decided that it was best to get on the case right away. The more one waits, the cooler the trail gets. It's best to gather as many clues as soon as possible. And since it was a shorter ride to county then to the Yard, I found it was best if I went there first. No use wasting valuable time." She paused. "And something was telling me that the press was still keeping Vole pretty occupied at the moment."

"So… you find anything?"

"Nothing that would actually help the investigation at this time, no – and most certainly not something that would make Vole's situation easier then it is in such a raw form."

"Ah, so you admit that you were thinking of Gregory when you left for county on your own?"

She faked a look of pure shock. "What reason would I have to think of Inspector Vole when I was avoiding the media? Come now Clawes, I know you can do better then that."

Clawes appeared lost for a moment, but then just shrugged and went back to eating his chips. The other mouse sure was perceptive, but sometimes it was better if he could put his deduction skills to better use than trying to read her.

But that didn't really change the fact that he was right.

After hearing Inspector Vole's tale, Basil's mind started working like the engine insides of a Swiss watch, unrelentingly and without stop. It was just no way that her mind could let such a mystery fly past her! She could not wait to get started.

But there was the little problem called "Inspector Vole".

She had told Vole that she was to return to Baker Street to solve a couple of things then come back later on to take a look at the cell in which the unlucky soul had met his end. She did not lie when she said that she was to return, but she might have bended the truth a little when she said that she was returning to Baker Street. Indeed, she did intend to go home, yet she never mentioned the little detour to the city county. She might have left her pipe at home, but never was out without her magnifying glass. It wasn't her fault that the others didn't take any notice of that.

Truth be told, she wanted to take a look at the scene at the crime without Vole hovering over her. Today was not one of her good days and as much as he liked Vole and his questions, today that would only serve as a distraction.

Sure, she could have asked him (politely) to let her have a few minutes alone, but that would just send the inspector even deeper in that dark hole of depression he was sinking in. It was clear that for a straight-forward man like him a case such as this would prove more difficulty then most and that in itself was a blow to his honor as a police officer.

Vole had little imagination when it came to crimes. He was used to do everything by the book, which in his case meant looking into everything with a jaundiced eye, scribble copious notes in his official black book, and pile up the evidence before he draws up an expert conclusion towards the guilty party. Still, one simple look at him had told her that his usual method was not helping him in the least. If she was to ask the inspector to leave her alone for a few minutes, even if it was just so she could move more freely, she would risk damaging Vole to a point of no repair.

It was painfully obvious. The wrinkled clothes, messy fur and baggy eyes were enough to tell her that he had not slept in the last 24 hours. He smelled the essences of wood, stone, transpiration and urine on him, his trousers had little patches of dirt around the edges and he had recently changed his shoes, most likely borrowed a pair from another officer for the ones he had been wearing were two sizes too big and he was shivering slightly. She was able to find a few straws stuck in his fur and had a big stain of rust on his shirt that he was trying to hide underneath his jacket. All those small details clearly indicated that he had spent the night in county searching for clues and it was only by morning when someone had literally dragged him out to warm up. That someone must have suggested to change shoes since the ones he had been wearing were wet, fact deduced by the presence of a cup of warm tea in his office, his shivers and the lack of socks upon his person.

She looked at Clawes for a moment. The person who got Vole out of that hole was clearly concerned for his health, yet failed to understand the psychological complication he was creating.

The inspector had spent sleepless hours cracking his head open for a valid explanation for certain events and because he could find none he was under the impression that he was being useless to this investigation. What the chief of Scotland Yard needed was reassurance that he was indeed needed. Her request of privacy would have been a major blow to his pride and the last thing she wanted to do was to break what little of his pride remained intact.

And now that she herself finished her inspection of the scene of the crime had came to the compulsion that she had acted right.

She felt a headache coming unless she did something to ease her thoughts. While munching on another chip, Basil sought to organize all the extra data she received.

Might as well go for a chronological montage.

It was not long after her slightly unorthodox exit from Vole's office that Detective Inspector Clawes had caught up with her, asking as politely as he could if she had a moment.

"_But of course, my good man."_ She had said in her natural 'I am at your service' tone.

"_Well sir, it is about our victim sir – and about his victim. Or, should I actually say 'victims'?"_

"_Victims?"_

"_Indeed sir. I didn't want to upset Vole with any more bad news for a while but it appears that getting fired was not the reason he killed Sir Henry. Our men at the lord's place of death found… another body."_

To say that she wasn't expecting further complications was a lie, but she most definitely didn't foresee something quite like this. And the surprises just kept on coming from then on.

From what Inspector Clawes had told her, the other victim was a lady in her early twenties and the cook had just confirmed that she was the local baker's assistant. Her body had been discovered in the Richfield family basement. In all the commotion it seems nobody ever thought of checking that part of the house until this morning. Cause of death: a blow to the head by a heavy blunt object. Yard's theory: the gardener killed her for some reason that still needs to be discovered, the head of the Richfield family caught him in the act and then the killer had killed him in order to keep his mouth shut. When the killer had realized what he had done, he panicked and ran from the scene, forgetting all about the girl down in the basement.

Basil was not quite ready to accept their theory though. For once, she could determine no motive for the girl's murder. There simply was not enough data.

Still, there was little time to dwell on the matter for another problem, equally puzzling had captured her interest.

"_And another thing, Mr. Basil. Earlier this morning I went to question his family. All that I could get out of them was that our man had been acting strange for a while now. His wife, at least, said that she hardly recognized him. Said that he seemed… possessed."_

That word again. She definitely had to see the poor sod's remains, no matter how non-existent Vole said they were.

She ordered Clawes to go back to the gardener's family and ask the wife if she suspected her husband of infidelity. Also, he was to ask the neighbors – especially the ladies – if they noticed anything strange about their mouse and report back to her in two hours tops. She was to meat him on the nearest park to Baker Street.

Once he was on his way, she set to work.

It cost her a biscuit and three bones (which she will have to get from Mr. Holmes's kitchen later that day) to convince Toby to make a detour, but it was well worth the risk of being found by Mrs. Hudson after all she had discovered.

County had been as unwelcoming as it always had been: dark, damp, cold and messy. She was almost 100 present sure that they haven't cleaned the place once since they built it now almost fifty years ago and for that precise reason she both hated and loved the ones in charge of the place.

But maybe for this particular situation she would have hated them a little less if they were to at least wash away _some _of the mess.

The cell she asked to see was certainly a sight she wished never to see again. The walls were scratched and kicked, bits of flesh and nails still visible on them, though one would clearly miss since almost every single bit of stone was practically painted in the scarlet substance. Also, it was by sheer will alone that she managed to hold on to the little bit of tea she had that morning once she had a good sniff of the air. It smelled of – apart from the usual county aromas – of sulfur and potassium. Not the most attractive fragments in the world, but at least they managed to lead her to what she was looking for. It looked like dust to the naked eye, and it was scattered quite foolishly all around the floor, but it was what she was looking for. Scooping up a bit in her handkerchief for further chemical analysis, she was quite ready to leave.

Of course, that was before something that was partially hidden by her foot caught her eye.

Crouching down, she noticed it was some kind of symbol, that of a star with five corners in a circle within a triangle. At first she thought that someone had drew it in their boredom, but upon closer inspection, she noticed that it was not carved in the stone, but was scorched into it.

After scribbling it quickly on her notebook, she left.

"Inspector Clawes, tell me again what the wife said."

Clawes choked on his fish at her sudden demand but as soon as he could breathe again he said: "Just as I said before. Said that she did not believe he was capable of something like that even if he did tend to look after young girls on the street or when they went to market."

"Those exact words?"

Clawes sighed and pulled out his notebook, managing to flip the pages with one hand. Finding the notes he needed, he said: " 'Why, sir, I hope you are not suggesting I am no longer a looker. I'll have you know that other men fight to have a better look at me and Walter was by no means a fool to leave the meat to have potatoes. And to answer your question, no – Walter was not interested in them other skinny looking things, though as all men he would look after them ones that were pretty. What man doesn't?' And that was in her exact words. "

"Almost – she says ya' instead of you and 'ave instead of have. And the neighbors?"

"Same. Only that one lady said that he…" he checked his notebook again. " 'tended ta' look after them yang' 'on with the green eyes.' "

Now there was something. "Young 'one' or 'ones', detective?"

He checked his notebook again. "One."

She almost didn't catch that, for just then her ears picked up the sound of footsteps. Someone was coming their way: someone light, short of stature – possibly a child – and from the sound of it, someone agile. Hardly a threat, but maybe it was better to watch her pockets. "And the girl you said you found in the basement … what eye color did she have?"

"I'm not sure. I did not believe that something like the eye color of a victim would be of any import- … Are you suggesting that he was stalking her? The girl he murdered?"

"I am not saying anything without the proper evidence, but I have a hunch that that is indeed the case. Ask the police surgeon to confirm the lady's eye color (you _have _taken her to the mortuary, have you not?). And while you're at that ask Richfield's cook to give you as much information on her as she can (and do not ask how I came to know the cook is a she). A name and address are a good start. Also, see if you can track down any family and when you do I want you to talk to them. Ask standard questions then see where it goes from there; it is still unclear where we should be going with this. When you finish, come to Baker Street and we shall see what's going to be our next step."

"Next step? You speak as if we have actually made progress in this case. Mr. Basil, no disrespect intended, but we are going nowhere! Is there anything that actually makes sense to you in all this madness?"

She did not hesitate. "Several things, actually, though there are several more that continue to puzzle me. Still, for now all we can do is continue to collect as much data and then we shall see what we can do with it. It is a capital mistake to theorize before you have all the evidence. (1)" She took another chip in her mouth and decided that maybe eating fish and chips from time to time would not hurt too much.

"Oh, and Clawes, you may wish to solve the little problem concerning your sudden lack of money. Something tells me that your landlord will not be too thrilled to hear that you could not pay your rent due to a pick-pocketer."

"What?" His hand immediately went to his inner pocket where he knew he kept his money… only to find it wasn't there. "What in the name of…" He turned to Basil, desperate for an answer, but she merely pointed quite casually to the retreating form of a poorly dressed child… with money in his hand.

"Hey, you! Get back here you little thief!" He shot up to his feet and went off in hot pursuit.

Basil shocked her head. Quite typical of Clawes: notices what is less likely to be noticed yet fails to acknowledge the obvious. And he even left his chips behind…

She took out her pocket watch to check the time. Seems it was still pretty early. She still had time to head back and blackmail Dawson into telling her landlady that she had returned hours ago and spent her morning napping. She was sure she could prove that her crumpcakes from the other day were not missing due to a termite invasion.

"Get back here you- AHHH!!! I beg your pardon ma'am. Sorry sir! Hey you! Stop!"

She giggled. On second thought… might as well help the inspector first.

Slowly untying the knot to her four-in-hand tie, she started walking at a casual pace the opposite way Clawes and the urchin had gone. Why men always do it the hard way?

Meanwhile, Clawes was getting all the more irritated with each passing second. Out of all the times when he could get mugged, it just had to be today!

"Stop it right there, you scoundrel!" he shouted… just before tripping on a rock and landing in the mud. He could hear laughter, most certainly coming from that cursed little thief. That only made him angrier.

Slowly, he lifted his head. Mud stained his fur and he could feel something was in his left ear, but the murderous look in his eyes told anyone who looked at him that his outside appearance was most certainly _not _his priority. Once he blinked the mud out of his eyes, he noticed that the boy – the one who laughed at him… the one who _stole_ from him – was now _mocking_ him.

"Was' tha' matter guvner'? Bit beyond your reach?" The nerve of that scoundrel! He was making fun of him! And what was he- … Oh no… He was _fluttering _his money right in front of him!

Anger taking the place of logic, he shot to his feet and lunged at the boy. Had he used logic, he would have noticed that said boy was a bat – a bat that was a bit beaten by weather, bit skinny and who was missing an eye, but a bat nonetheless. If he had used logic, he would have been able to see that both bat's wings where in perfect working condition, and this, if he had used logic, he could have deduced what were to happen if he was to simply jump the urchin. Since he hadn't used logic however… he found himself in the mud again.

"Ha, ha, ha!" said the bat, now airborne. "Looks like ya' got in a mess, ain't tha' right, guvner'?" Still laughing, the bat swirled around Clawe's head a couple of times then, when the inspector moved to grab him, he simply moved out of his reach, landed, and then ran off. A crowd had already gathered and he knew better than to sit around and wait until someone decided to help the mouse.

Now that the show was over, it was time to become invisible to the world. Still, being so preoccupied to listen for possible threats and massage his aching wings, he failed to notice the lady with the greenish-blue bandana until he literally ran into her.

"Oh, sorry ma'am!" said the little bat to the lady, and when he considered that he had made enough distance from her went to pull out his earnings – only to find that the money was no longer there.

"Looking for something?" said a voice from behind him and he felt a hand press on his right shoulder. Turning, he found that the lady he had bumped into mere moments ago was holding the money he worked so hard to get.

"Hey! Give me back my money!" demanded the child and moved to retrieve the notes, but the lady was keeping a firm grip on him, thus preventing him from reaching his target.

"Ah, but that is where the problem lies, lad. You see, money is earned through what most consider hard work and labor. You, on the other hand, took these" she fluttered the bills "from a man who had earned them. This sum had nether been given, won or earned by you, thus meaning that you stole it. That makes you a thief and in most situations a person such as yourself is being punished according to law."

Wiggling out of her grasp, the bat spat "Tha' hell with ya', lady!" just before running off.

Watching the little thing go, Basil of Baker Street sighted before taking off the tie she had used as a bandana. She pitied the poor creatures that were forced to steal in order to survive in this cruel world, but there was little she could actually do. Stealing was against the law and she swore to uphold the law, no matter what reason it law was broken.

She only hoped that the little guy won't be too shocked when he was to find her unfinished bag of fish and chips that she had slipped into one of the pockets of his overcoat. He most certainly looked like he needed it more then she did.

"Where did he go?!"

Basil had just finished making the knot back on her tie when Clawes appeared. Truth be told… he had better days.

"Mr. Basil! How did you- But I was running around and - …"

"Do breathe, inspector. And here, clean yourself up." She handed him her good handkerchief for her spare one was currently keeping together the remains of a certain gardener. She knew there was little hope of ever getting it back, but she had her priorities.

As Clawes started to clean himself up, she went to provide him with the answers to his question. "And I assure you, I did not by some miracle just appeared here. I simply took a shortcut. It was clear that the boy wanted to lose you in the busy market, a fact deduced by the fact that there are no other exist from this park with the exception of this one here and beyond it there was absolutely no place for him to hide. Of course, he is a bat so the prospect of flying away should have crossed your mind but if you were to use logic you would have deduced from the fact that he had not took flight immediately after he had taken your money but chose to run, thus resulting the fact that although he could fly he could not do it for a period of time needed by him to flee the premises of the park. So, he took advantage of his small body that permits him to make sudden turns to evade you by running around in circles. After you were no longer able to pursue him, he simply departed towards the exit, where I was waiting for him. Had you taken the time to think things logically you would have discovered that the simple course of action I chose to apply was the most efficient one."

"It all happened in mere moments! How could I deduce all that?" he tried to excuse himself, but Basil merely lifted an eyebrow. "I'm not some kind of a machine, Mr. Basil. I'm not you! I know your methods and I use them every day in every new case that I am given, but how can you expect me to use them in my everyday life? That would mean ignoring all my emotions; analyze the moves of every living creature like they are all thieves and murderers and expecting the worse to come out of everything! That's not a way of life. It's simply not natural!"

"I use them whatever I'm working on a case or not and as you can see they serve me well no matter the situation." Was her response. "You say you know my methods. Apply them! (2) That way you may avoid unnecessary mud baths and get better results. Now, go home, clean yourself up then do as I instructed. If anything comes up, you know where to find me."

After hearing Clawes's "Yes sir" she left the detective to lick his wounded pride and retrieved Toby from where he was playing with the falling autumn leafs. Soon, both mouse and dog were heading back towards 221B.

When they arrived at their destination, she silently congratulated herself for managing to keep her exterior a perfect mask of indifference, otherwise she was sure that her discussion with Dawson would have been even more 'enjoyable' then it already was.

"Young lady, where have you been?" he had asked her as soon as she had closed the front door, arms crossed in front of his chest. "You said that you would be right back as soon as you were to deliver those documents to the Chief-Inspector, but you have been gone and most likely abused your body for four hours to the second!" and pointed at the clock from atop of the fireplace to prove his point.

"In fact, I have been away for three hours and three quarters, which hardly consists of the 240 minutes necessary in order to validate your statement." She said taking off her cap and placing it back on its usual place on the armor. "And just so you know Dawson, I have been spending most of my time sitting down and I have yet to feel any displeasure. You see, old boy, you have been fussing over nothing."

"When it comes to you, Basil, nothing is quite nothing." He replied simply, but when he saw her setting up her worktable and selecting chemicals, he exploded: "Basil! For the name of the all-mighty, we have already discussed this!"

"By 'we' I do believe you are referring to Mrs. Judson and yourself for it's clear that nether of you have taken any time to consult me in the matter."

"Close proximity of chemicals is highly unethical and unsafe for a person in your condition, and you very well know it! You need to take it easy these days, Basil, or you shall find yourself in the situation where I will have no choice but to take you to a hospital and we both know what that means."

She had just lit the fire when the doctor had said those words and paused for a moment before taking out the napkin and its precious contents and placing it on the table. "Come now, dear Dawson, your worry is unfounded and exaggerated. It is not like I am suffering from some rare African aliment. Other women complete their work with little difficulty through these moments and I am convinced that no one died because of it."

"But you are not like other woman, Sherringford Basil!" He snapped at her, his tone sounding harsh even to himself. "I am sorry, Sherry, but you must know that I worry about you. It pains me when I see you neglect your body so and I simply don't know how to prove you that I am only looking after your best interests. I care for you, Sherry, and so does Mrs. Judson. We just want you to know that you don't have to constantly put on that mask of yours."

Despite herself, she smiled. Dawson could not even begin to know how much that meant to her, to have someone looking after her. There was a long silence in the room then, still keeping her eyes fixed on the napkin, spoke in her natural voice: "Dawson, do you think I'm odd?"

Dawson looked perplexed, then tried to answer the question – most awkwardly, one must add. "Well… you certainly are unique, Sherry. Quite a special girl… Mind you, I am only saying it in only the right form of the word and… Oh, and you have a very original way to think and act and…" he gave up. "Do you want an honest answer?"

"If you would be so kind."

"Then I believe you to be downright messed up in the head." He said humorously, and even Basil left out a full-hearted laugh. "Would you mind me asking what brought this up though?"

"I –" she hesitated. "It was just something Inspector Clawes said earlier today. It… got me thinking, I guess." Truth be told, the detective's words from earlier had done more then made her think; they had hurt her.

"Ah…" was all that Dawson could mutter, as if he understood her completely, which was quite ironic since she didn't understand her at all.

She knew that Clawes had the right to snap at her like that. The last 24 hours were hard on him and adding humiliation to lack of sleep was never a fortunate combination, but that didn't change the fact that hearing those words made her feel fragile and broken.

And she couldn't understand why she felt that way. Logic told her that those were simply words spoken out in anger and had no real meaning. And even if they did, then it was her life and she did with it as she pleased. Men do not care what other people say about them and their lifestyle, so neither should she – all she really needed to do was stop caring… simple as that.

But, if it was so simple, then why couldn't she do it? Why couldn't she just pretend that nothing happened and just walk away? It could only save her a great deal of trouble.

Not to mention that once she almost got into a lot of trouble.

She and Toby were making some errands when they encountered a human couple quarreling in the middle of the street. The man was blaming her wife for the fact that he lost his job because she dared to correct him on his spelling while his boss was in the room. When he started calling her names that no man should ever call a woman, Basil was so close to jumping off Toby's back and bite him somewhere where it would hurt, but the dog – apparently sensing her intentions – moved away from the scene before his little master was to do something she would live to regret.

"Sherry… you have not listened to a word I said" The sound of Dawson's voice had pulled her back from her memories, though not quite soon enough, for it seemed that the good doctor had been talking to her for some time now.

"I'm sorry, old boy, I let my mind wonder." Her eyes fell on his bag and hat, and if she knew the doctor well, that could only mean one thing. "You're seeing a patient."

"That was what I was going to tell you. I received a house call while you were still out. It's nothing urgent, so don't give me that look, just a routine check-up on one of my more elderly patients. She lives close by so I should be back in about an hour or so…" he carried on, but it was clear that she was no longer listening to him. She was now opening a handkerchief and scooped some dust from it on a slide and placed it under the lens of her microscope.

He sighted. Why did he even try? "What exactly are you doing there?"

"Just an autopsy."

"A wha- … You know what? Never mind. I really don't want to know. Just don't overwork yourself like you did last time and make sure to eat something before Mrs. Judson comes back."

"No need for that one. I already ate."

She ate? Without one of them forcing it down her throat? Will wonders ever cease? "Did you now?"

Still not looking up from her microscope, she said: "Yes, Inspector Clawes treated me with some fish and chips earlier. They weren't half bad, in fact. Oh, and he may come by a little later to discuss a case, so don't be too surprised to see him."

Moments later, Dawson was peacefully walking down the street, a broad smile on his lips. Seems there was hope for her after all. She will have to discuss these new developments tonight with Mrs. Judson… after they would add some sleeping pills to Basil's tea, or course.

Only problem was, he never managed to return home that night.

* * *

– quote from _A Study In Scarlet _by A.C. Doyle, Part 1, chap. 3, p. 27  
– quote from _The Sign of Four _by A.C. Doyle, chap. 6, p. 112

* * *

_A cliffhanger! What a way to end a chapter! And I may have been a bit too hard on Clawes, but honestly, I so see this happening. But now be as it may, the mystery only seems to keep on growing, and only so few a answers seem to appear. What happened to Dawson? What does Basil want to do? Will they get to the bottom of this, or will this prove to be - as Vole said - "the one Bassu couldn't solve"?_

_For the answers to all your questions and more, we shall meet again in the next chapter!_

_Reviews always welcome and greatly appreciated!_


	5. Chapter four

**_Whispers in the Dark_**

**Chapter four**

People have the natural tendency of trying to make the best out of their lives, no matter how lousy of a life it is, and that is just one of the reasons why young Dedecus Brown, better known as Midget among his fellow rodents, was now wondering around one of the darkest parts of London: the docks. Certainly not the place you'd normally find a six-year old bat.

But then again, Midget wasn't quite one normal six-year old… and nether was his family.

His father worked in the mines and his mother was a laundress lady – and he also had a cousin, the one who first came up with the name 'Midget', but his family had forbidden him from entering their house – meaning that most of his time little Midget was left at his own devices, and usually that meant following his cousin's example, since even though he rarely saw him, he still managed to spend more time with him then with ether of his folks. He learned at an early age to be quite independent and taught himself how to survive when there was nobody there to fix him anything to eat. He had learned what money was and soon afterwards he figured out how to get it as well, but unfortunately, he didn't manage to learn fast enough what 'getting caught' was.

That was one lesson he was forced to learn the hard way.

It had taken him two broken wings and an eye to learn it, but what actually mattered was that he had. And he was lucky. Since he was still growing his wings healed quite well and were at the present giving him much less pain when he tried to fly than they used to. He couldn't say much about his eye though – the doctor said that there was nothing he could do. That bothered him in the beginning, but not anymore – not since his dear parents had made him move in with his dearest cousin Fidget.

He still didn't understand what his father meant when he said that 'low-life scoundrels were meant to stick together' though.

Midget was currently sitting on a crate, devouring a small pack of chips he found in one of the pockets of his (actually, of his cousin's) overcoat. He didn't know how the food got there, but he was too hungry at the moment to actually care. With food in his stomach it was easier to forget about making the same mistake that lost him his eye.

"Hey, Midget!" came the bellow of a lizard that just popped his head out of the Rat Trapp. The harsh tone of his voice made the little bat choke with the chips, but the lizard ether didn't see, nor didn't care. "Boss started the meeting and yer cousin ain't here! Do us all a favor and get tha' him here before he makes tha' boss blow somethin', will ya'?"

"Yes, Bill!" said the little bat, barely scrambling on his feet. A moment later, all thoughts of his food forgotten, he took flight.

"And watch it, will ya'? You almost hit that lamp post!"

"What lamp po- OUCH!"

Well… at least now it was clear where the expression 'blind as a bat' came from.

The lizard who Midget had called 'Bill' simply shook his head. Rodents were all alike, with or without wings. But he sure as hell wouldn't dare say that out loud or maybe his dear employer would think that his cat needed a snack. Returning from the grave was quite enough to spook him half to death, he didn't need an encounter with Felicia to die completely…

Hump! As if the cat would need any more fattening.

"Hey, Bill!" a voice had come from inside the tavern. "Close the door, will ya'? We were discussin' some serious business he're! Chubby's gotta be taken care of by tonight, ya' know!"

"Ya', ya', yold ya' horses!" Honestly, some people had such little patience.

Unlike a certain other mouse that was making her way home from Sunday mass.

Mrs. Judson, owner of the under floors of 221B Baker Street had – as Basil had often said – the very rare gift of tolerance. In the three years since young miss Basil had moved in with her, she had managed to put up with all of her eccentrics with not even something akin to a word of complain. But there were times when even a highly tolerant woman such as herself could not bottle up her feelings.

"The nerve of that man! 'Menace to society' my kittens! It's him that's undoubtedly a menace! Ohh… what I wouldn't give to have at least half of Sherry's guts and give that mouse more then just a fare piece of my mind!"

What had started as a pleasant Sunday morning had suddenly turned into a memory she wished she could forget. Tom Bonnets, a former tenant of hers, appeared in church that morning. Well-known for his devious affairs concerning women, Bonnets was undoubtedly one of the last mice she expected to see in church. In fact, he was the last mouse she ever expected to see in London – especially not after she had found him making out with a lady half his age in her kitchen!

She chose not to remember the details concerning his vacancy (but she did ask herself to thank Basil once again for helping her "seeing him out") for his approach after mass still had her fuming.

It started innocent enough – he was asking for his old room back; said that he had learned his lesson and that he swore on his good name that he would never again do something similar while under her roof, but when she said that his former room was no longer available though, things started to get a bit out of control. He became hostile and started accusing her of the most horrid of things. As she often done in the past, she was about to simply walk away and leave him lose some steam when he fired something that even she could not let pass: he started insulting Basil, calling him a menace to society and a second-rate mouse that only lived to ruin the lives of decent people like himself.

She must have shock half the town that day with what she had said as a response to his accusations. "_How dare you, you hooligan?! Basil is ten times the mouse you think yourself to be, and even so, I'm not giving him enough credit! For your information, getting your sorry ass kicked out of my house was by no means his doing; it was your own, for you dared do such a thing in my kitchen! I've told you my rules and warned you of the consequences if you were to fail to stick to them! Next time you seek to place the blame of your misfortune on a perfectly decent mouse I'll advise you to take a good look in the mirror, pall, because you have not changed hair nor whisker since I last saw you!_"

She blushed at the memory. Now that she took the time to think, that was awfully un-lady-like of her. A proper woman did not back-talk other men… _But Sherry does it all the time, _she thought, _and I daresay she thinks nothing of it. Plus, talking that way to him was… quite liberating. _It no longer was a mystery to her why Basil found it amusing to bark at them 'when and only when they deserved it'.

Just when had she started following the younger mouse's example?

When she arrived on the doorstep of her rooms on Baker Street the smile was still glued on her face much like the grin of a hyena. In her newfound mood of satisfaction, she almost didn't notice the young mouse that was approaching her until she had almost literally run into her.

"Oh, dear!" she had said when the young mouse came to a sudden halt right in front of her. She took one good look at the child's sparkling eyes and bright smile and immediately knew who she was.

"Hello, Mrs. Judson! Did you miss us?" she cried happily as her father appeared chuckling from behind.

"Olivia, my dear, do slow down. I do believe you have just given Mrs. Judson a fright." Hiram Flaversham said as if he was trying to give the impression that he was scolding his hyperactive little girl, but was failing miserably. "Good day to you, Mrs. Judson. We were in town with business and thought we stop by for a visit."

"How lovely!" cried Mrs. Judson in pure delight. "It seems like forever since we had any decent company around here. And Olivia dear, let me take a look at you. Oh my dear, is it me or have you grown since the last time I laid eyes on you?"

The girl just opened her mouth to reply when a terrible "boom" came from inside the house, startling the grown-ups more than her. Panicked, Mrs. Judson busted through the door with an anxious Hiram Flaversham on her heels. No sooner than she did so, she immediately wanted out. White, thick smoke filled the rooms and there was this sickening smell in the air, like that of putrefaction. It made her sick to her stomach!

"What in heaven's name?!" she exclaimed when she saw the state of her house. While she blindly tried to find the window in hopes that it would let some smoke out, she promised that she will give _both _her tenants a scolding they will never forget! Never mind all she said earlier! Basil _was _a menace! And why didn't Dawson do anything to stop her?!

She heard the elder Flaversham tell Olivia to remain outside and then things started getting more visible. Apparently somebody found the window.

"What happened here, Mrs. Judson?" asked Flaversham from somewhere to her right. Mrs. Judson was just about to respond with something along the lines 'you guess _what_' when out of the smoke came… A MONSTER?!?!

"AHHH!!!!" she screamed in pure terror at the sight of the thing. Hiram instantly moved in between the landlady and the creature and Olivia, who up until now was slowly entering the house, ran behind a curtain.

"Mrs. Judson! Please lower the volume!" the creature said and Olivia peeked from behind the curtain. She was certain she knew the voice. Then, as the smoke cleared even more, she dashed out from her hiding place and threw herself at the "monster's" midsection, much to her father's horror and Judson's shock. Next thing they knew the "creature" was taking off what appeared to be a pair of goggles and a protection mask.

"Wonderful to see you too, Miss Flanghaner."

"It's Flaversham!" said Olivia at the same time Mrs. Judson cried out "Mr. Basil!"

"Yes, whatever." Basil said, trying to un-stick little Olivia from round her waist. Not quite as easy as it seemed.

"Mr. Basil!" Exclaimed her landlady again, refusing to be ignored. "What, in heavens name have you done to my house?!"

"Nothing, Mrs. Judson." Answered her tenant, now free from Olivia's tight grip. Just how strong could a little child be, anyway? "As you can see everything is at its proper place and nothing has been damaged."

Mrs. Judson looked around the room, spotting the pile of papers and books in one corner, the chemistry table and all the other documents and other strange things Basil had picked up from all around London, each and every one of those things lying in the most unimaginable place. She rolled her eyes. _Proper place indeed …_And then there was today's mail … Post and packages and all that. Olivia, an ever curious creature, was currently looking at one particular package that was ….

_Vibrating?!_

"Mr. Basil, what are you doing here more exactly?" asked Mr. Flaversham whom had taken his time to examine the strange substances scattered around Basil's worktable. In an instant, the detective was at his side and noticed that the older mouse was currently eying her current experiment.

"Ah, that is just my newest experiment, Mr. Flaversham. You see, this morning we – DON'T OPEN THAT!!!!"

But her warning came too late for Olivia had just taken the lid off one of the packages and out of the box, came a big (for a mouse) blur of black and yellow and started buzzing wildly around the room. Mrs. Judson instantly called out "WASP" and pulled Olivia to the side and Basil pushed Mr. Flaversham under the table before moving to try and catch the creature. Again, not an easy task – especially considering how fast it moved.

"Confounded!" exclaimed Basil as the black and yellow blur once again flew out of her reach. "Mrs. Judson! I told you that not to open anything that came by mail until I was to check them!"

"I'm sorry, Basil!" Olivia said before Mrs. Judson had the chance to speak. "I didn't know what was inside."

Hiram Flaversham, seeing that the detective was having difficulty in apprehending the current source of chaos moved to help, but Basil stopped with a commanding bark of "Don't move, Flaversham!"

"But you need help!"

"Yes, but not from you. You're allergic to bees! Aha! Got cha'!" she leaped in the air and caught the buzzing menace in mid flight. When she landed on the floor with an "ouf", the creature that now all could see was in fact a little baby bee was still wriggling about, trying to free herself from the mouse's grasp. "Oh, no you don't, you little trouble maker! I caught you now and there's no way you're getting away from me."

The bee, much to the surprise of Mrs. Judson and Mr. Flaversham and the amusement of young Olivia, started to pout.

"You caught him, Basil!" cried Olivia and rushed over to the detective and bee.

"Olivia, honey, please be careful!" said a now shaky Hiram Flaversham, whom still did not come out from under the table. "Bees are not friendly creatures."

At that, his daughter laughed. "Oh, daddy, there's nothing to be afraid of! It's just a little baby bee. Look at him!"

"My dear –" Basil began "- First thing's first, I would like to point out that it's not a 'he', but a 'she'. Male bees have slightly different body structure and are considerably larger then your average honey bee. Secondly, although I know you must find this …" she looked at the bee. "… very interesting creature 'cute' and probably even 'precious', its bite shall forever be dangerous to your father."

Olivia looked confused and much to Basil's horror, Hiram didn't seem up to finishing her explanation. _God save me from simpletons!_

"Your father, my dear, is allergic to bees. Meaning that if one of these-" she tilted her head towards the insect "was to bite him, then he could go very ill, or even die."

Olivia turned to her father, who simply nodded. Understanding seemed to wash over the little girl as she looked between the bee and her father. "Ohh…" She said and Basil was sure that under all the fur she must be blushing. "Sorry, daddy."

Hiram simply smiled at his daughter, bud did not make a move to come out from under the table. "There is no harm done, dearest. But… Mr. Basil, mind if you do something about the…" he pointed at the bee that was once again struggling to escape the detective's grip.

"But of course. But first – Mrs. Hudson, can you find any note with the box. I wish to know the proper way to dispose of this creature." The bee went suddenly still for a moment, then began trashing violently. "Quiet down!"

"I found something!" cried Judson as she came forward with a small note. She looked over the piece of paper, and her face immediately darkened. "It says: _Sherringford, This bee's nest was destroyed in a storm and her family abandoned her when they went to seek for cover. Aunt Cissy saved it and sent it to me but I cannot keep it so I am now giving it to you. Keep and care for this one and don't forget to come by my club to discuss that job offer I wish you to take. Myerricroft… _I am not having a bee stay in my house!!!"

The bee winced at the landlady's angry tone, burying herself as much as possible in Basil's arms. Basil, on the other hand, simply stared at her landlady blankly and then slowly made her way to her red chair to sit down.

She? Keep a bee?! What was her brother thinking?! It was not… WHAT WAS HE THINKING?!?!!? That was… It was simply… God, she needed to think.

Think, think, think… Disobeying a direct order from brother Myerricroft was not something she particularly liked, but keeping a bee was most certainly out of the question! She could not take care of a bee! She didn't know a thing about beekeeping and her brother expected her to care for such a pretentious insect? And how, pray tell, could she actually take care of _one_ bee? Don't they usually live with their queen? And what were Myerricroft's motives for sending her the insect? She had nothing to do with it. Maybe this was just his way of playing a trick on her… but no, with her brother, there were never games. He always had a reason. Maybe this creature was his way of saying she needed a more stable life?

But then why did it have to be a bee? They are known to be among the busiest of insects… although this one looked like she was the black sheep of her flock.

She looked at the now silent bee in her arms. She was practically a bit older then a baby – from what Basil could deduce this one had probably just passed the stage of a larva. Usually, in the insect world that should mean that this little one was almost an adult, but it was clear that there was nothing 'adult' in this particular creature. This one looked lost and confused, like a stray kitten rather then a to-be busy honey bee, and for a moment Basil thought that maybe her brother was really trying to play a trick on her, for he had sent an outcast to an outcast. Maybe madness really did come with age, and maybe she could find a way to get rid of the insect and claim that she never received the package. She could be a good liar when she needed to and… What was the silly thing doing now- dear God no… the bloody thing was giving her the _puppy dog eyes_!!!

She pulled the bee at arm's length to take a better look at it. Apparently, the little devil stopped struggling to get free, only to start begging with her eyes. But she failed to understand what exactly she was begging her to do. Let her go? Nothing would have given her greater pleasure. Let her go outside? She'd love to. Not hurt her? Well, she had to think about that one…

She didn't have the time for this!

"Ok, bee… I do not care what my brother says, but as you can see; my landlady does not accept bugs in her lovely home."

"I most certainly do not!"

"Meaning that there is no way you may remain in this apartment."

Olivia gasped. "Basil, you're not going to-"

Basil carried on with her speech completely ignoring the little girl's outrage. "That is why we are going to come up with a solution to this mess my dear brother has created." She watched the bee for any change of expression… it was still giving her the eyes… Then she turned to look at the people in the room. Mrs. Judson looked ready to kill someone (probably Myerricroft if she ever got her hands on him), Olivia was eyeing her with pleading eyes and her father was still hiding under the table.

First, it had to be one of those days; second, she the most spectacular case had just popped up yet she will probably miss all the interesting parts and bonuses: Claves was upset with her, a child had cursed her, she ran out of magnesium in order to complete her experiment (and as she discovered early trying to make something without it might bring the house down), her landlady was most definitely going to scold her over dinner tonight (that is, _if_ she had any dinner), she made a beautiful impression with her guests, Olivia added stomach pain to her list of unpleasantries and now her dear brother had given her a bee that was giving her _the look_ for reasons that remain obscure to her.

This day was just getting better and better by the minute!

Making up her mind, she turned to the bee, placed it on her knees and crossed her hands in front of her, making it clear that this was to be her final verdict. "Bee, you are to listen. I am terribly busy at the moment, so for the time being, you are to stay here –" she held up a hand to keep her landlady silent "– but only for the time being. Once Dr. Dawson shall return home and I shall finish my experiment we shall decide where we shall take you. But let me make this clear: you are not going to remain here!"

The bee looked close to tears now. Oh, this was simply fantastic!

"Now, until the proper time shall come, you are to stay in Miss Flangerhanger's care" she then shoved the bee into Olivia's hands, dismissing the girl's correction concerning her name with an order: "Make sure that this bee stays out of trouble at least until I return."

Olivia gave her a salute much like she had seen Dawson do when Basil had given him an order in that toy shop now a couple of months ago. The bee looked at her for a while before copying her.

"Where are you going?" asked Mrs. Judson whom was desperately trying to clean up some of the mess the capture of the bee had caused.

"I am out of magnesium – something I need to complete my experiment. Since I have no intention of bringing the house down I'll go up and see if Mr. Holmes has any that I can borrow."

The vase Mrs. Judson had been holding shattered to pieces upon its interaction with the floor. Olivia and the bee jumped and Hiram Flaversham, who finally seemed to find enough courage to get out from under the table, ducked back in. Basil simply sighed.

"You shall be doing no such thing! I do not care what you have to do for whom, but you are not going up there! Last time Mrs. Hudson almost caught you!"

"But she did not, as you can clearly see. It's just a little bit of chemical substance and Mrs. Hudson never approaches Mr. Holmes' chemicals – much like you don't go near mine."

"But that does not make her blind! And you know what she thinks about mice. If she sees you then nothing's going to keep you safe."

"Toby's up there and would definitely provide aide if I was in need of assistance. Really, Mrs. Judson, I'll just go up, get the blasted substance, then come right back, be done with my experiment, save Vole's job and be back in time for tea and discuss the bee problem with Dawson and yourself."

"But it is still too much of a risk! I will not let you go up there! Especially not alone!" and to make her point she moved in front of the taller mouse, blocking her path.

"Really, woman, be reasonable!" Basil cried, exasperated. "I have been up there a thousand times already and I have never been caught."

"And now is not the proper time to start!"

As the conversation was going nowhere, Olivia, the bee and Mr. Flaversham (who still did not emerge from under Basil's worktable) were looking back and forth from one mouse to another, all equally speechless. That is, until Olivia decided to speak.

"I could go with you, Basil!"

"Definitely not!" cried the adults at once. The bee, frightened by their outburst, zoomed out of Olivia's hands and hid under Basil's worktable … causing Hiram to jump from under said table and duck behind Basil.

"I will go with you if this means staying away from… that!" cried Hiram, pointing at the bee which was now being comforted by his little girl.

And so, it was after a few more minutes of fussing and demands coming from Mrs. Hudson and promises of being careful from Basil and Mr. Flaversham that both detective and toymaker were making their way to the flat of one Mr. Sherlock Holmes.

"Mr. Basil, are you sure this is such a good idea?" asked Hiram Flaversham just as they were sneaking inside the human flat. Basil was out first, checking if the coast was clear. When she noticed that there was no danger she motioned for Hiram to follow her. The older mouse did just that, though he was becoming all the more nervous of the whole situation. And what was more, he felt like he had forgotten something.

"Mr. Flaversham, it was your idea to accompany me here."

"I know… but now I'm not so sure. If it wasn't for that bee…" he didn't finish. Yes, it was a choice between two evils, but had he actually chosen the less harmful of the two?

"Yes, I know Mr. Flaversham. But come now. As I told Mrs. Judson, we'll just go, get my substance and be right back in."

Hiram nodded and followed the detective up the foot of a table. Once up, the toymaker noticed various bottles of strange liquids and other interesting devices much like the ones he saw on Basil's worktable.

"Extraordinary…" muttered the toymaker, making Basil chuckle. Hiram was not a mouse that was used to human objects. His work as a toymaker required minimal interaction with the two-legged creatures, but Basil knew that even a mouse like Flaversham senior would find all their unique devices quite interesting. She herself tried to copy most of them, scale them down to her size, yet some things just weren't meant to be made by mice.

Leaving the older mouse have his fun examining the various large bottles and jars filled with only Mr. Holmes knew exactly what, she went to retrieve what she needed. She was almost done too when Hiram suddenly screamed.

"Mr. Basil! There's… in that chair! Mr. Basil!" he cried in panic, much to Basil's amusement.

"Do relax, Mr. Flaversham." She said in reassurance. "That is only Mr. Holmes and from what I can see he's going threw another one of his depressions. Once in such a state, I doubt he'd give a hippo wearing a tutu and dancing the Sugar Plum Fairy suit a second glance."

And she was right. Mr. Sherlock Holmes, brightest mind in all of London was indeed in one of his moods; staring into space while lazily puffing on his pipe. Apparently, he was in dire need of a case.

The two mice were ready to leave when the silence of the room was interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Mr. Holmes! There's Chief-Inspector Lestrade to see you, says it's urgent."

Flaversham could swear he heard Basil mutter an "O-ou" just then.

"Ah!" cried Holmes and in an instant he was on his feet and marching towards the door. "Thank you, Mrs. Hudson! Do come in, Lestrade!" Hiram barely saw a man with rat-like appearance when Basil yanked him out of human view, dragging him behind a stack of books.

"What now, Mr. Basil?" asked Hiram, heart racing, yet voice a bit too loud for Basil's tastes.

"Now we wait – silently!" she whispered to him before taking a peak from around the books to see what was happening. Hiram, unable to control himself, followed her example.

Inspector Lestrade of the human Scotland Yard was considerably shorter then Mr. Holmes, but at the moment he appeared to be even smaller (and coming from the point of view of a mouse, that was saying something). He was pacing in front of Holmes, muttering nonsense until the consulting detective gripped him by the shoulders and asked him to take a long breath and to calm down. The inspector did so before sharing his troubles with the other man.

What these troubles were, however, had quite an interesting effect on Mr. Holmes.

"Lestrade, my good man, have you been drinking?"

"Confounded, Mr. Holmes! I am being serious here! This man, or whatever it was, literally tore the hands off one of my men and – Stop it! Leave my forehead alone! I am not delirious nor have I gone mad, Holmes!"

"But Lestrade, you claim the killer – whom you described as an overgrown _rat, _I might add– vanished into 'a blazing blur of fire' right before your eyes. Surely such a thing is both improbable _and _impossible."

'Blazing blur of fire'? Vanished? Now this was certainly not something one would hear everyday… And if you were to ask Basil, this was too odd to be a coincidence.

"What is happening, Mr. Basil?" asked Hiram in a whisper upon noticing Basil's troubled expression.

"I'm not sure, Flaversham." She muttered, trying to pick up more of the two men's discussion. "But it's odd …"

"What is?"

"This morning Inspector Vole told me that one of their prisoners died in his cell, incinerated." Ignoring Hiram's gasp, she continued. "Death in prison is nothing new Flaversham, but the troubling thing was that it was physically impossible for that mouse to be burned by such a degree given all the circumstances. All that was left of the poor sod was cinder. And now I hear of a man in the human world that seemed to have mysteriously vanished in flames. I find it a too great a coincidence."

"You think there's a connection?" Hiram may know close to nothing about these sort of things, but what he did know told him that something was terribly fishy.

"I only say it's a too great a coincidence. Inspector Vole will not be happy to hear this, but maybe it will bring us one step closer to solving this case before the media gets a hold of this information."

"Why is that?"

Basil and Hiram both stood perfectly still for a moment, then, ever so slowly, they turned towards the source of the new voice. Yes, to one mouse's annoyance and other's horror, Olivia Flaversham was just sitting there; completely oblivious to the danger she just placed herself in.

"Olivia! What are you doing here?!" cried her father while Basil took the time to close her eyes and count to ten… repeatedly.

"I was looking for the bee. He's not in the flat anymore."

"It's a 'she', Mr. Flancaster!" snapped Basil, cursing herself for not remembering how terribly curious this child could be – and for trusting her to take care of that cursed insect!

"A bit of tea to cool your nerves, Inspector?" said Mrs. Hudson as she came into the room, tray of tea in hand.

"Confounded!" hissed Basil. "There are too many people in here. Quickly people, we must move. Everyone get back to the passage!"

"But the bee …"

"Leave it be!"

They were only a few feet away from safety when Mrs. Hudson's scream of "Goodness gracious! A bee!" made the mice jump. A moment later, a small little bee nearly crashed into Basil and in an instant was huddled in the detective's arms, shivering more violently than ever before.

"Did I get it- AHHH!!! Mr. Holmes! Rats in my house!"

Silently, Basil cursed Myerricroft to die a most slow and painful death. Why couldn't he have sent her a nice little worm?

"Everybody, scatter!" shouted Basil, barely dodging Mrs. Hudson's broom. Bee still pressed against her chest, she hid under a nearby armchair, noticing that Olivia and her father managed to hide behind some of Mr. Holms' scattered files, Mrs. Hudson right on their tails.

"This is simply wonderful…" she muttered, eyeing the bee with angry eyes. "And it's all your fault! What were you thinking?! What was in your mind when you were buzzing around Mrs. Hudson's tea?! What was _I_ thinking when I left you with that girl?! God, I'm talking to a bee!"

"Mrs. Hudson, do leave the creatures alone."

"Not a chance, Mr. Holmes! These pesky creatures have been feeding from my cheese long enough! Inspector! Did you see where the other one went?"

"I think I saw it duck under that chair."

_This is not good! _Not a moment to lose, Basil sprang out of her hiding place before the human woman had the opportunity to catch her.

"There it is! Mr. Holmes, don't let it escape! Oh no, Inspector, watch that –" there was a crash "vase… Mr. Holmes, for goodness sake, get it!"

Basil managed to avoid the three for quite a while, jumping out of their reach in the nick of time and even if that shoe did hit her and the cup had almost sliced her throat, she was able to escape their attempts to capture and/or kill her. At least, Mr. Holmes managed to finally grab her by the tail.

She desperately tried to wriggle out of the man's grasp, tried to bite or scratch his fingers, but it was no use. Holmes knew how to hold her so she could not hurt him.

_This is it… Oh, how right was Mrs. Judson! How humiliating… Caught by a human! I didn't die when I fell off Big Ben, I'm going to die squashed by a shoe! And all thanks to that blasted bee!_

"Aha! Got you now, you little – OUCH!"

Basil must be the luckiest mouse alive for before she was able to comprehend what was happening, she was flying through the air and landed on a pile of files on the other side of the room. Dazed, she let Olivia and her father drag her towards the tunnel, vaguely remembering the bee biting Mr. Holmes before her little flight.

"Basil!" Olivia squeaked in admiration when they were safe inside the tunnel. "That was incredible! Will you do it again?"

The detective's only response was a pained groan.

What a day! And it wasn't even over yet! Oh, and look: to make things even better the bee was back buzzing around her head. _Wonderful…_

It was one long, hard scolding received from Mrs. Judson, half an hour lecture given Olivia and several death threats shot at the troublesome bee that Basil was finally back at her worktable, adding the final touches to her experiment. She only had to add two more drops… The substance changed colors and it now smelled of burned flesh. Mrs. Judson found the smell utterly disgusting and commented upon how such smells did not belong in a decent home as she once again tried to drag the younger mouse away from all those fumes. But then the substance began crystallizing and Basil let out a triumphant cry.

"Aha! Success! I know the answer!"

Mrs. Judson shook her head and headed back toward her kitchen to see if Olivia was still keeping the bee under control. There was no talking to her tenant when she was like that. Hiram Flaversham, on the other hand, became awfully curious.

"Found something, Mr. Basil?"

"Indeed I have Mr. Flaversham! I have established the cause of death! Come, come, do take a gander. See these crystals? Well, not many people know this, but the only way my experiment could receive such a result would be if the body would ether void of water or if the fire would start from the inside. Yes, Mr. Flaversham, such a thing can happen. Think of fire eaters. Yes, but you see, in this case, we are not talking about fire eaters. If one is to analyze the shape of these crystals, the only plausible answer would be friction!"

"Friction?" Olivia, who had just entered the room, blasted bee perched on her head, asked. "Like when you're moving one palm against the other?"

Basil tried not to sneer at the sight of the insect. It may have saved her life and it may have buzzed around her like a worried little sister when she was still trying to recover from the unwelcome run (and flight) around Mr. Holmes' apartment, but the detective still wanted to strangle it for causing all those problems to begin with.

Taking a deep breath, she tried to answer Olivia's question. "Yes, my dear. You see, when two surfaces touch each other, they create heat. The process is, as you seem to know, called friction. Now, with the right conditions, the friction can be so intense that the surfaces can catch fire. Now –" she turned to Hiram, lowering her voice so that Olivia wouldn't hear "My theory concerning the poor sod's demise is that some anomaly in his body had caused his cells to move around in his body so fast that the concept of friction appeared. Usually, such a thing is considered to be impossible, but let's suppose that something in the brain triggered this abnormal reaction. The cells caught fire because of the friction and the man burned from the inside out. What we need to know now is what could cause such a thing to happen. The body – and brain – can be capable of things nobody would ever imagine. It may have been the result of shock, from all we know, or maybe it was something else…"

She started pacing the room, not bothering to look for her pipe. Olivia and her father simply watched her and the bee that began imitating the detective's "thinking walk".

Without a warning, Basil turned around and grabbed her deerstalker, announcing that she had to speak with Inspector Vole and that if a certain Inspector Clawes was to come looking for her then they were to tell him to wait for her.

While riding Toby (who apparently had been sleeping during the whole time), she couldn't help but wonder what was keeping the doctor.

* * *

_YES! We have officially entered the world of Sherlock Holmes! And be assured dear fans that this won't be the last scene where our favorite mouse detective meets our favorite human one! But at times I wonder ... why don't we see scenes like this in GMD fanfictions more often? Well, who knows - you'll get some from me. Oh, and I do hope I managed to capture a bit of Basil's usual logic in this chapter. (and one must admit - the bee and Olivia are simply awesome together ;) )  
_

_But still ... who could kill a man in such a fashion? And where is Dr. Dawson? The answers to those questions and more await in the next chapter! ... Maybe._

_Reviews always welcome and greatly appreciated!_


	6. Chapter five

**_Whispers in the Dark_**

**Chapter five  
**

She definitely had had better days.

It has been a long time ago that Basil learned that life was not all sunshine and dandelions – she was a consulting detective after all, damn it! – but she had hoped that after so much pain and sweat on her part the good people of the London criminal underground would be kind enough to stay out of her fur for a few days. But no – they had to act now!

According to Vole (who was very close to hitting her with an inkbottle before he was able to see that she was not a constable bearing even more bad news) there had been another murder only a few hours ago. The victim was the girl of the baker on Gloucester Street, aged twenty-nine and had had the "the most gorgeous pair of green eyes one would ever find on a girl", as one fanatic father - who just couldn't stay home "till justice was done" – was quick to share. A pair of constables decided that it was easier to simply drag him back to his flat by force instead of trying to seek reason with him. The murderer at least was caught easy enough… until he had met the same end as Sir Henry's gardener.

It was just wonderful.

Still, she was at least able to boost Vole's hopes up with her discovery. It was not much, but Vole looked ready to kiss her there and then, a small fact that didn't really go that well with her stomach at the time.

And so it was half an hour later that she was finally back on Baker Street, wishing for nothing more then a warm cup of tea and a good novel to read. But of course, she had had better days, as stated before.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Basil…" Mrs. Judson said, a giggling Olivia besides her "… but the thing's been agitated and gloomy (at the same time, mind you) ever since you left. Although I know this must be uncomfortable, I do insist you let it cling to you for at least a little before it breaks any more of my fine china or tries to attack any more of our guests." While Mrs. Judson was busy voicing out her thoughts, Basil was silently counting to ten in her head… then again, and again… and again, until she finally lost count of the times she had started counting. Exploding with guests in the house simply wouldn't do.

And to think that she came home hoping for a relaxing evening!

But no! – No sooner than when she set foot through the door she was met with a buzzing ball of black and yellow in the stomach. The bee, the insufferable creature her brother had sent her earlier that day, had just become the one thing she now despised more than anything else in this entire world, for said bee was clinging to her much like a baby monkey did with its mother – much to the amusement of young Olivia Flaversham who apparently wasted no time before she started to tease.

"He must think you're his mother, Basil" Olivia had said between giggles.

"It's a 'she', Miss Flavermouth, and I don't appreciate jokes made on my expense." Said Basil evenly, pulling the bee away from her and attempting to throw her back in the living room. Her attempt had no such effect for as Basil was soon to learn, the bee had been practicing her flying.

_Look at the thing; looks awfully pleased with herself, the little wrecker of homes. How I wish I could wash that grin off its face and… oh, no! Please, God, have mercy and don't tell me it wants to play with me!_

The bee had picked her deerstalker and placed it on her head, buzzing merrily around her as if it was expecting the detective to do something.

_The insufferable creature doesn't even seem to care that I want to boil it alive._

"Aww… Basil, look at him. He wants to play with you!"

"_She _most certainly does not! If there is a single soul in this house this pesky creature would seek its company, it would be you, Miss Flangover."

"Flaversham!"

"Whatever." Basil said, waving her hand dismissively.

Mrs. Judson found this a perfect time to step in. "Now, Mr. Basil, I am sure you can find a better time to deal with this little matter. Right now there are some people who need to talk to you waiting in the living room. Oh, and would you mind if you were to see to their tea yourself? I left the water boiling on the stove but right now I need to check up on Mr. Flaversham. That horrid bee just wouldn't let the poor man be."

Olivia, who seemed to have become exited over a reason Basil failed to comprehend, grabbed the detective by the hand and pulled her towards the living room, bee right behind the two.

"You will never guess what guests you have, Basil. One of them has the fluffiest tail I have ever seen! You should see it, Basil! Can you make your tail fluffy? Can I make mine fluffy? Daddy said it's impossible, but you've done the impossible before so there should still be a chance. Mr. Bumbles doesn't seem to like it, though… scared daddy so much that he's barricaded himself in a room upstairs and…"

Muttering under her breath, Basil allowed the child to carry on with her useless chatter. It was simply no use trying to start a fight with hyperactive children at the time.

Once they entered the living room, Basil was quick to notice that Detective Inspector Clawes was there, currently preoccupied with trying to glue a teacup back together. Basil was certain she knew who was at fault for _that_.

"Good afternoon, Inspector." She said casually.

"G-good afternoon, Mr. Basil! Sorry for the mess." He said quickly, trying to hide the glue and teacup behind his back.

"We – I mean, your landlady was kind enough to bring us – me! – something to drink and well… the bee didn't seem to like…what I mean is that…" He was rambling… meaning that he was nervous… and if she knew Clawes well enough by now she knew that when the Inspector was nervous, rare as it was, it usually meant two things: one – he messed thing up big time (which she seriously doubted was the case considering the easy task she had given him) or two - …

"Why, hello there, Monsieur Basil"

… There was a woman involved.

"…A good day to you, miss." Basil answered to the lady's greeting, doing her best not to sneer at the squirrel – judging by her appearance – that emerged from the kitchen and was now advancing towards her. She did not bother to question where she got that bottle of wine. She spoke with a French accent; it wouldn't be much of a stretch to presume she carried a bottle or two with her.

"Monsieur Basil…" she said, stopping right in front of her. "I have heard everything about you. Inspector Clawes had tolled me everything about you…" Basil was not amused when the squirrel began playing with her tie. "And your methods…"

At that, the detective (and the bee, she was quick to note) shot Clawes a murderous look. The mouse's only response was a pleading look that seemed to say "it isn't _my_ fault!"

There were two things Basil hated more than anything in the whole world. One thing was injustice and the other was one's inability to use their head to the best of their capabilities. But if she was to forget about the fact that both she and Mrs. Judson (and Olivia maybe) were females, then "women" would have very easily reached the very top of her 'hate' list in two times flat.

With only a few exceptions, all the women she had met during her existence on this fine earth turned out to be ether an abuser, a blackmailer, a sloth or a murderer and from the looks of it, the woman Clawes has just brought into her home could easily pass for any or even all of the previously-mentioned 'types'.

For starters, the lady was a squirrel, immediately making her suspicious of her motives for associating with the average London mice. Squirrels are know to be proud creatures, often thinking of themselves as better then most rodents simply because they had 'noble blood'. Second, she had that look in those deep blue eyes of hers most women had when they were after something, and happened to know the perfect way to get it. Thirdly, she was nicely dressed: new, modern dress, expensive shoes, fancy jewelry and seemed to be wearing rose water… human rose water. So, it seems this one had tastes for the exotic…

"My goodness, Monsieur Basil, do lighten up, will you?" she said while burying Basil's face in her tail, much to the mouse's horror. "I knew Englishmen are known to be stiff and… shy when it comes to feelings and such…"

_Dear Lord…_

"But I was hoping a mouse with your history would be a bit more… adventurous."

And so she remembered another reason why she hated women: they tended to flirt… with HER. For the love of the Almighty! Couldn't they figure out that there may be a _reason _why she was NOT interested in that sort of thing?

There was a tug on Basil's shirt sleeve and a whisper of "I told you it was fluffy, Basil" coming from Olivia.

_Fluffy indeed, very much so…_

Waving the squirrel's fluffy tail out of her face Basil simply turned to Clawes and said "We need to talk" before dragging him by the elbow into the kitchen, leaving a stupefied lady staring after them. The bee followed the two mice into the other room and somehow managed to shut the door behind it, but not before sticking its tongue out at the squirrel. Had it not ducked in the other room in time, the insect would have most certainly been hit by the vine bottle that hit the door a moment later.

Once the detective and inspector were out of said lady's earshot and the voices of an angered Mrs. Judson and Olivia's full-hearted laugh could be heard coming out of the living room, Basil began her interrogation – that is, if one would consider scary looks thrown at the inspector as such.

"Mr. Basil, please believe me that I didn't want to bring the lady here, but she claims she has information regarding our man and she r–"

Basil sighed. Was she really that intimidating? "Yes, Clawes, very well, we shall discuss this issue at its proper time. Now, if you would be so kind as to give me a brief report of what you've been doing the last couple of hours I would be grateful. And mind you, a little bit of good news would be welcome." She said, massaging her temples. She really didn't have the energy for another argument with the Inspector.

"Oh…" the sudden change of subject had taken Clawes by surprise, but he was a mouse that was known for his quick recoveries. That is why, by the time Basil had moved to tend to the tea Mrs. Judson had left on the stove merely moments ago, he took out his notebook and began: "Well, as you deduced, the cook knew the girl our man murdered. Her name was Lucky Lionhart and lived with her family in Spitalfields. Upon getting in contact with them, I managed to confirm your suspicions. The victim had expressed her concerns to her father that she was under the impression that she was being followed for a while now…" when Basil turned from the tea to look at him, he quickly scanned his notes. "The father's exact words were 'told me so now scarcely a week ago and hasn't mentioned it since then'. When the mother had finally stopped weeping, she was able to confirm that her daughter had green eyes, just as you deduced. It seems our fateful gardener really was stalking the girl."

During the inspector's report, the bee had positioned itself on Basil's head, almost causing the detective to spill the tea. When shooing the thing didn't work, Basil did her best to ignore it. "There's still too many loopholes in this affair for me to come to a solid conclusion. Tell me, what else did her family say."

"Well, she was twenty-four, single and lived to bake and gossip. Her mother said that she used to know everything her clients did just by looking at them. Could it be safe to say that she read Dr. Dawson's works on you?"

"There is insufficient data for that kind of deduction. Please continue."

"Didn't get anything else from the family, unfortunately, although her brother had given me a list of friends I could talk to" and at that he pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it over to Basil for inspection. "But it's hard to track down any of them on a Sunday when the kid only knows where these people work and the city records are closed. We'll have to wait for tomorrow in order to talk to them." He waited for Basil to take a good look at the paper and thought the detective would make a comment on it. When none came, he continued: "Overall, from what I was able to gather from the cook and some of her neighbors, she didn't seem like the type to have enemies, but we both know that that's hardly a reason for one to get killed these days. Speaking of such, did you find anything concerning our man? Your landlady said something about you going off to report to Inspector Vole."

"Well, apparently I was able to determine the cause of death…"

For the next following minutes, Basil was displaying the results of her experiment as well as took her time to bring Clawes up-to-date with certain developments. Much like she expected, Clawes wasted no time in processing the information, but theory after theory, they both had to agree that there were simply too many loose ends.

"A supernatural possibility if not entirely impossible…" Clawes muttered, as a last resort. "I have met a man that was able to predict the exact year, month, day and time of his death three years before actually meeting his fate. He was even able to tell me the amount of bullet holes the police surgeon was to scratch down on his file. And there are countless other examples out there. Hypnotists and even stage magicians are able to perform the most outstanding feats with no prop whatsoever."

"Did the lady from the next room give you that idea? You're getting better at this thing, then."

"Thank you, Mr. Basil, but even so I must confess that I don't like this affair at all."

"You are not alone in that one, my dear Clawes. Vole is not all that thrilled with this either. And that was before we crossed over to the supernatural."

"And with good reason; taking into consideration all we have gathered up until this moment, we can ether hope that we will by some miracle find a witness that would be able to tell us something useful –"

"Or hope for the murderer to turn himself in, but that in itself is simply foolish on our part to even take into consideration."

"And then there is the third option, the one no man of the law, like me, ever should look forward to."

"… We let him kill again… and hope he'll leave something for us this time."

There was a heavy pause then, with nothing but the occasional cracks of firewood coming from the stove. Eventually, Basil broke the silence after making another quick scan of the list Clawes gave her before handing it back to the inspector while muttering "Spitalfields area, Heneage Street… The one, who wrote this is thirteen years old, had a broken his right arm once and is left-handed, fact which in itself is rather curious – anatomically speaking of course… Mother is a housewife, the father works in a factory and has an older brother working as a postman… Additional deductions: totally useless for the investigation." She paused in her musings upon noticing Clawes' lost look, lifting an eyebrow as she did so.

"Sorry about that, sir" said Clawes, accepting another cup of tea. "It's just that you never cease to amaze me when you do that." He said before sipping some tea.

Basil groaned. "Come now, Clawes, after going over what we just did something so trivial surprises you? You know my methods just as well as I do, and so does Inspector Vole and Dr. Dawson. There's no magic to it." When she turned back to her tea, she found that the bee was now happily drinking from her cup, much to her annoyance. She shoved the bee out of the way.

"Which reminds me, Mr. Basil, where is Dr. Dawson?" Clawes asked, a puzzling expression written on his face. "Usually the two of you are inseparable when on a case."

"For the moment he's on a house call and…" she didn't finish her sentence, for she had just realized that something was terribly amiss. Dawson had said that he would return in an hour…

"Mr. Basil, is everything all-right?"

Basil didn't answer, instead she checked her pocket watch and found to her uneasiness that her internal clock was not completely off. Muttering a curse under her breath, she jumped to her feet, causing the bee (who had once again taken residence on the top of her head) fall off.

"Mrs. Judson! Have you seen Dr. Dawson?" Basil shouted once she re-entered the living room, completely ignoring her female guest who seemed to be choking on something.

"Mr. Basil! Will you stop shouting? There is no reason for the humans to hear you!" she said, climbing down the stairs.

Rolling her eyes, Basil repeated her question. "Mrs. Judson, have you seen Dr. Dawson?"

The landlady paused for a moment to search her memory. "Well, not since I left for church this morning."

"And you haven't seen him since?"

"Not at all." She frowned. "Mr. Basil, why are you asking me this? Mr. Basil!" But Basil wasn't listening to her. She climbed up the stairs, two at a time, and barged into Dawson's room, not at all surprised to see Hiram Flaversham there, nor when he bolted out of the room when the bee followed behind her. Poor lad wasn't safe from the insect anywhere…

Doing her best to ignore the buzzing menace, she set in search of his notebook. Usually the good doctor was to note down every appointment before actually seeing to it, just so he wouldn't forget. If she was to find it, she might know where he went.

She had no such luck.

Well, it seems it was time to resort to plan B.

"Mr. Basil? What are you doing?" It was Clawes who asked and Basil was certain she also heard someone gasp. It must have been the squirrel. Nobody else in the house would have been shocked to find her under Dawson's bed, sniffing socks. But she paid her little mind. She needed a sock, or a jumper, or even a dressing gown – anything that wasn't cleaned recently would do.

She finally settled for an old shoe that luckily managed to escape Mrs. Judson's washing spree. Who said you don't find treasures under the bed? Well, Mrs. Judson, but that was terribly beside the point…

"Clawes, do be so kind as to fetch Toby for me. Tell him I have urgent need of his assistance and meet me in front in five minutes."

Clawes, sensing the urgency in the detective's voice, asked no questions and moved to complete his task. As he did so, Basil caught the lady by her hand, gently pulling her out of Dawson's room.

"Now, Miss…" Pausing as she realized she had not caught the squirrel's name.

"Angelique Becquet, Monsieur Basil."

Basil stopped walking. "Interesting name for a Hungarian, but I guess it's to be expected from one to live in Paris for so long to change her name to something more suiting." She said before continuing to drag Mademoiselle Becquet down the stairs, oblivious to her shock.

"How did you know that?"

"Just as I know that you practice hypnotism and spiritualism. Please do not be so shocked, dear lady, once one looks closely enough then it's easy to deduce these trivial things about a fellow rodent. I would have no problems proving that I have not been spying on you when you have eaten cherry pie in your hotel rooms – The Palace? I take it from your expression that I'm not mistaken – but it just happens that you dropped by in a bad time, so if you have something to say to me then you have exactly four minutes and fifteen seconds to do so."

It took the lady quite some time to get over the shock of having somebody read her so openly – something that usually happened when Basil wouldn't offer an explanation to her deductions – but she was able to let it aside just as Basil retrieved her deerstalker from the bee.

It may have been just her, but the air suddenly felt cold.

"I see you are a man who likes things – how do you say it – 'to the point'? Well, in that case, I can to tell you that I know about the murders of Mademoiselles Lucky Lionhart and Erica Shaw." Basil froze. With a knowing smile, the woman continued. "And I also know about how their killers had met their end. Burned to a crisp, did they not?" Slowly, she moved closer to Basil, running her fingers threw the fur around the detective's ear. "Please do not look so shocked, Monsieur Basil. I have a talent for knowing these things. After all, I am – as you have guessed – a spiritualist. I can see into the future, Monsieur, and I shall give you a warning: there shall be more murders. I cannot tell you who or what or where, but in the end, I won't need to. You'll figure them out for yourself. You did manage to read me like a book, after all."

Mademoiselle Becquet chuckled, then, as if it was a dream, the room became warm once more and the Hungarian was moving towards the door.

"Well, Monsieur Basil, it's been quite entertaining." The squirrel said, not pausing to look at the detective. "We shall have to do this again, once you have the time of course. Please send word for me when such a time comes – you already know where. Oh, and before I go – a friendly piece of advice…"

In an instant, the spiritualist caught Basil's eyes, and smirked.

"Do not underestimate the unknown."

And with that, she was gone.

"That was odd." Olivia said, voicing Basil's thoughts. "And what did she mean when she said 'do not underestimate the unknown'? It doesn't make sense." From her nods, the bee seemed to agree.

"Hump! People like her take pride in the fact that they can fool the crowd into believing anything they say. Mrs. Judson! Most certainly she got all that from ear-dropping on my conversation with the inspector. Mrs. Judson!!! A single door doesn't muffle voices that well, after all. MRS. JUDSON!!!"

"For heaven's sake, Mr. Basil, will you stop with all the shouting? I heard you the first time."

Basil smirked. Finally some normality! "I'll be going to see what's keeping the good doctor so long. I hope to be back with him in a matter of hours, preferably before nightfall. In the meanwhile, will you please see what's wrong with the boiler? Last night I was almost suffocating from heat."

Not giving the landlady the opportunity to start an argument, Basil spun on her heels and headed towards the front door, but came to a sudden stop as soon as she felt that a certain _something _was following her.

"No!" she shouted, holding a hand in front of the bee like a barricade. "You… You menace to society, are staying here with Miss Flanbermouth –"

"Flaversham!"

"Whatever. And do not dare give me that look, bee! You're not coming along and that's final! Besides, you wouldn't want to come on this weather anyway. It smells like rain and no bug likes getting their wings wet."

And without another word, she left the house, although the bee didn't look happy when she did.

Upon meeting with Clawes and Toby in front of lower 221B Baker Street, Basil gave the dog Dawson's shoe to sniff and waited for the dog to pick up the doctor's scent. Clawes was getting restless.

"Clawes, return to Scotland Yard and inform Vole of the situation. Also, try and place someone to follow our spiritualist friend. Her coming here was most certainly not a coincidence, but I refuse to touch her before knowing more about her. I want to know all there is to know about her."

"I'm on it –"

"I didn't mean right now, Clawes. First let Mrs. Hudson mother you and do enjoy some more of her fine cooking. Then go home and get some rest. Get a fresh start in the morning and come back to Baker Street around ten so we can get back to solving this problem. And do be good and bring Vole with you. I believe he could use a change of scenery."

"And you, sir? It's clear that you'll be searching for Dr. Dawson but aren't you exaggerating just a bit? It's not like he's never been late before. For all we know he could have stopped at a local pub and lost track of time (and maybe a couple of shillings, if you don't mind me saying, sir). Plus, it's not like he's completely defenseless. He's served in Afghanistan, after all"

"That is true Clawes, but I also know that something terribly wrong is happening in this city. And I also have this feeling…" she stopped that line of thought in the source. "Either way, it's getting too late and too cold for the doctor to be out alone, military man or not."

Twenty minutes later, thunder could be heard in the distance. Apparently Basil was right when she said it smelled like rain, but it was Mrs. Judson and Inspector Clawes that were truly inspired when they practically had to hold her in place and convince her to at least take a bag of necessities such as a bit of food and first aid kit (courtesy of Mrs. Judson) and warm woolen scarf (courtesy of Clawes). Honestly, what was wrong with those mice! She wasn't some fragile piece of porcelain! But maybe the good doctor would have better use of them then her. It certainly looked like it.

How much she hated being right!

Toby followed the doctor's scent towards Regent's Park. Not too surprising at first, mostly because Basil knew that the doctor had several patients that took residence in the kitchens of Bedford College, but when she saw the struggle marks in the crossroad between Jenkin's Nursery and the South Villa, she became concerned. When she found Dawson's cap lying in the mud next to the footprint of a large rat, she became generally worried.

Another thunder shook London, and Toby whimpered.

"Come now, Toby. It's only thunder. It will pass soon." She said in a soothing voice. "Right now we need to find Dawson – preferably before it starts to rain."

"Aww… someone's afraid of getting their fur wet?"

If now precisely twelve hours ago you were to tell her that she will be facing six – no – seven filthy… and _hungry _sewer rats, she would have laughed in your face, but right now, she felt like crying out in exasperation. Why did these sorts of things always happen on the _worst _of days?!

"Gentlemen…" she said in steady voice, but hoped that if she couldn't get to them, then maybe Toby's growls would. "We do not seek any trouble. We are only looking for a friend."

"Hey boss, tha' pipsqueak's talking about tubby." One of the smaller and apparently dumber ones said. The "boss's" only response to that was a low chuckle.

Basil didn't like where this was going. This was an ugly lot to begin with: messed up fur, shredded ears, shabby clothes and the very typical aroma of garbage and sewage. The whole package, as some would say. And the "boss" seamed to be the worse of the lot… and the boldest.

"Lemme guess…" he had said, rising to his full height. Basil was hardly able to contain a gasp. This one was _huge_! Even for a rat! Almost like a small and menacing cat. "Tinny fellow, brown fur, had something akin to a mustache… and a black overcoat? Yes? Well, sorry lad, but my memory is not the best…" he carried on, coming one step closer to her with each word. Snickering could be heard from his companions and the blood in Basil's veins ran cold.

"But I might remember something… if ya' willing ta' offer an odd, tired bunch like us a little bit of fresh meat."

Basil didn't notice that she was retreating until her back touched Toby's left leg. Momentarily distracted, she failed to notice the boss jump the last few steps he needed in order to reach her. When she saw his face hovering mere millimeters from her own, she simply froze.

"What say you…" his voice was but a whisper. "… puppet?"

For Toby, that was the last straw! Nobody was to treat his little master like that! With a growl and a menacing bark, he swung at the rats, biting and scratching any rat that he could sink his teeth into. In an instant, the rats scattered.

Now that that was taken care of, it was time to see if his little master was hurt. Noticing how shaken she was, he dared to lick her.

"Yuck! Toby!"

Well, seems his little master was alright after all. Basil though, wasn't quite so relieved.

Those rats had met Dawson, of that she was certain, but she was certain that they weren't able to kill them. Even in her panic she was able to notice that even if one of the rats had his claws covered in blood, _mouse _blood, she knew that they didn't kill him. They still looked too hungry for them to have... No, Dawson, although probably wounded was still alive. Probably managed to hide somewhere where those… those… beasts couldn't reach him.

After once again reassuring Toby that she was all-right, they went back to following Dawson's trail, and as she let the hound guide her, Basil was able to picture it all, just by looking at the small signs scatted here and there on the ground: how the doctor left the main road, how he ducked under the roots of a tree but was forced to scramble out because the rats were trying to squeeze in, how he tripped twice and how one of larger rodents caught him by the leg, his wounded leg … and finally, how he came to crawl up a set of human stairs and finally squeezing threw the small hole in the front door of…

"The Holme?" she asked out loud once they were on the front porch of the villa, getting slightly sick just by taking in how big the building was. The villa was a perfect example of what she did NOT consider an ideal place to be in: tall, dark, deserted… creepy…

She was never particularly fond of tall structures; especially those created by humans, but after the events concerning Ratigan's defeat on top of Big Ben she became quite weary of them. And she would always feel a dull pain in her right arm, the one which bore a particularly nasty scar – courtesy of the rat.

Just as she did now.

Toby started to gently nudge, as if to tell her to just get the doctor so they could go home. With a sigh, she stopped massaging her arm and told the hound to stay. Then, wrapping the scarf more tightly around her neck, she entered through the small hole in the wooden door, completely unprepared for what she was to discover inside.

* * *

**note:** most of the places mentioned in this chapter actually do exist in London for all I know, yet also note that this is a work of fiction meaning that although I'm using these locations to add a little more charm to the story, I am in no way claiming that any of the things that happened or will happen later in the story at said locations actually did happen. They are just there.

* * *

_YES!!! It's Tuesday, meaning that it's time for another update! (me gonna try and keep updating every second Tuesday) And what do we have here? A new character, and apparently an odd one at that (I'll be publishing a character sheet for her these following days on my deviantART account for anyone who's interested). The bee is still getting on Basil's nerves and she and Clawes seem to be on to something ... we'll just have to wait and see if they're actually getting anywhere with this. AND I must say - writing Basil is loads of fun! _

_But now will she be able to find Dawson? What exactly will wait her in the villa? What about our murderer? For the answer to all these questions and more, we shall meet again in the next chapter!_

_Reviews are always welcome and constantly appreciated!  
_


	7. Chapter six

**_Whispers in the Dark_**

**Chapter six**

"_God is dead" _said the words of his book, and although most would claim that the heretic who wrote the blasphemy that is _The Grey Science _would forever rot in the deeps of hell, a certain rodent was certain that this man – this _human _– must indeed be one of the greatest minds of their time.

Picking up the bottle of whine on the table next to him, he dared pour himself another glass. He no longer cared that this was to be his tenth glass, nor that his henchman were currently making too much racket after he _explicitly _told them to be quiet. He just kept on reading, faithfully ignoring the mindless chatter his door could not block.

"Right, so, you got the stuff?"

"I… I got the rock!"

"And I have the ropes!"

"Good men. Now, what did tha' boss said we ought to do?"

There was a pause then. It was clear that his henchmen were thinking really hard – quite a feat for such clueless creatures. Setting the new empty glass back on the table, he returned to his big armchair by the fire, picking up on his reading from where he left off.

"Ah! I know! We tie this end of the rope to the rock, then the other one to chubby…"

"Good, good – then what?"

_God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him. How shall we comfort ourselves, the murderers of all murderers?_

"We… AH! We throw them in the river!"

"God job, lad! Seems the boss was wrong – you _do _have something in between those ears of yours after all."

_What was holiest and mightiest of all that the world has yet owned has bled to death under our knives: who will wipe this blood off us? What water is there for us to clean ourselves?_

"Shall we do it now? I wanna eat and get home before the storm's here."

"The sooner we get moving, the sooner we can eat. Bill, can ya' get the rock up to chubby's cell?"

_What festivals of atonement, what sacred games shall we have to invent? Is not the greatness of this deed too great for us? Must we ourselves not become gods simply to appear worthy of it?_

"OUCH!!!! Bill, you IDIOT!!! You caught my FOOT!!! I'm gonna KILL YOU!!!"

The three henchmen hushed the instant the door to their boss's room creaked open and as they all took in the annoyed expression on the large rat's face, they scrambled away as quickly as they possibly could. Their boss was a classy and sophisticated person, but when angered… well… safe to say that none were able to forget what he did during Her Majesty's Diamond Jubilee.

Their boss smirked. It seems that even the _servus _could learn something from the _rector. _

Ever since his "miraculous" return, Professor Patrick James Ratigan kept on stunning the criminal underworld of London: firstly with the fact that he was still alive after falling of Big Ben, and secondly because he still had the power to take up his role of Napoleon of Crime as Basil of Baker Street had so generously dubbed him.

Basil…

Ratigan was pacing his study, his previous good mood now completely gone. Basil of Baker street… Ohh, what a horrible name! Ratigan still couldn't quite figure out how that insufferable pipsqueak managed to escape him – twice! And in the same day, no less! After all his efforts, after all the careful planning… that little vermin ruined everything, meaning that after all his troubles Ratigan was left with nothing… other then a disgusting photograph he refused to get rid off.

Oh… if only that little thing wouldn't have lived in a house with so many humans…

He turned to the picture in question, one he had pinned above his fireplace, and let out a curse as colorful as a sailor's.

How he wanted to rip the offending thing to shreds and then feed the pieces to his fire, to simply get rid of it! It was so painfully to just take it off and rip … But no matter how much he wanted that, he couldn't. He had to keep it as a reminder that he was not perfect, that there will always be someone better then him out there and that he should never underestimate someone because they were smaller or weaker than he was.

It was a lesson he needed to learn, for he seamed to have forgotten that such a mistake had cost him his life not just once in the past… and had also made him lose his only real reason for living.

"God is most certainly dead…" he muttered, his anger for the detective diminishing … if only slightly so. Filling himself another glass of wine, he looked at the picture and found himself agreeing with the theories of some German human. "Scandalous" would be the proper word most rodents would use in this situation, but he actually found one Friedrich Nietzsche (1) to have quite an original way of thinking things through – and Ratigan loved this new way of thinking – human or not. Too bad the guy went loony.

After all, when you reach an age such as his even a preacher would start having doubts concerning God's existence, and Ratigan saw proof of His absence every day. Yes, for Ratigan, God was dead – for if he was alive, could He ever find it in His heart to torture him so? If He existed, could He really be so cruel as to turn a blind eye to all his silent pleas for help?

Well, no need to strain his brain to think up any other answers except the ones he already had. Best just try and relax and maybe entertain himself with another glass of wine and the plotting of a certain detective's demise.

It could have worked too, had his peaceful silence remained undisturbed by a particularly loud CRASH coming from one of the human rooms from above his own.

"Fidget!" he bellowed in exasperation. "What are you idiots doing up there?! I though I told you to be dispose of the garbage _silently_!"

Fidget, barely managing to avoid the glass that was aimed at his head, did all he possibly could not to fidget. He didn't like it when his boss was angry… especially when he seamed to be angry with him. "I – I donno boss! It, it, it's not us! Honest, it ain't! May-maybe the humans are back!"

"You fool! The humans left for India now a week ago. They will most certainly not be back for another several months at least." And although it occurred to him, he refused to acknowledge the possibility of _another _trespasser. "Now confess: which one of your buddies disobeyed my orders and wondered into the human rooms?"

Fidget was panicking. He needed to say something, and fast. The boss will most certainly punish him if he won't. "But… but I really not know boss! None of the boys gone up! We only do what you told us! None went up. Honest!"

By the time the bad finished, Ratigan was already massaging his aching temples. To think that this babbling creature was in fact the brightest among his men was a depressing fact. But at least he knew that this one knew better then to lie to him. Still, that didn't mean that whoever was up there would pay dearly for interrupting him from plotting his revenge.

Shoving the little bat out of his way, Ratigan left the room to have a world with a henchman that was bound to lose a couple of teeth.

Or at least, that was his intention.

Up in the human rooms of the human rooms of the villa, Sherringford Basil was silently envying the bats and their good orientation skills. Upon entering the villa, the first thing she noticed was that the pace was dark… very dark at that … and terribly cold, as well.

Now, she took pride in that fact that she had a pretty good eyesight considering the straining lifestyle she lead, but even so all she was able to make out were the silhouettes or a table and a couple of chairs and maybe some windows, so it was of little surprise to her when she walked right into… something, effectively hurting her foot and breaking what she supposed was a vase in the process.

"Confounded!" she said, scolding herself for rushing into things. She was a private consulting detective, for heaven's sake! She knew better! And she also knew that enough was enough! "Time to bring some light on the subject" and with that, she took out a match and lit it up, the little piece of wood now casting a dull light around her. It wasn't of much help, but it was of some help. At least now she wouldn't walk right into a wall. She only hoped that the few matches she had left were going to be enough to find Dawson.

Speaking of the doctor, where could he possibly be? Taking into account everything that she managed to deduce, Dawson was hurt and most certainly exhausted from both shock and pain. He couldn't have gone too far … In fact she was surprised she hadn't found him yet. She was certain she would have found him somewhere near the entrance.

"Dawson?" she called out, taking a good look around her.

White drapes covered various pieces of furniture and she could smell mold, meaning that the place had not been properly ventilated in some time. Hmm… a big, imposing house, devoid of humans… the perfect place for a rodent to call 'home'.

Suddenly, rushing things didn't sound like such a bad idea anymore.

"Dawson?" she called again, lighting another match. "Dawson? Doctor, where are you?" She kept calling for some time now, wondering from one room into another, searching in every crack and corner. Nobody answered her calls.

"Goddamn it, David Dawson, where are you!" she yelled out in frustration, her voice echoing in the empty house. Very well… maybe shouting was not such a good idea… especially since she could have sworn that she heard something move. It sounded like footsteps, or more precisely the footsteps of a pretty heavy individual – possibly a… rat…

For a moment all logic left her and she was this close to running out of that house then and there had her mind not come up with the possibility that the one making those sounds could be Dawson.

Pushing her fear to the back of her head, she swallowed hard and set in search of the source of those footsteps. I needed not say that she was not at all thrilled when she found that the footsteps were leading her to the cellar. She was even less thrilled when, once down there, the sound of moving feet ceased completely.

With no other sound to guide her, she decided that it was time to start calling for the doctor again. "Dawson?" she said as another match died on her, sending her once again into darkness. Annoyed, she opened her matchbox, finding just two more matchsticks in it. "Well, might as well make it count." and with that, she lit one of them up.

"Doctor?" she called out, not even bothering to hide the desperation in her voice. If she couldn't find him now, then there were little chances of finding him at all. "Dawson, please! Can you hear me?!"

"B-Basil?"

Her name was spoken in a voice so weak the detective barely heard it, but even so, it was no mistaking who its owner was. "Dawson!"

No other signs or calls were needed. That weak voice was enough for Basil to take the last couple of steps needed to reach the doctor – whom to her horror was locked into an old bird cadge. The older mouse was too still for her liking, lying on one side and apparently muttering nonsense, like he was having a dream.

"Dawson!" she yelled out, forgetting in her worry to mask her voice. Trying to open the lock to the cage, she tried to bring the good doctor's mind back to his body. "Dawson, please wake up! You know as well as I do what can happen if you fall asleep in this cold. Dawson, WAKE UP!"

The doctor turned and murmured something incorrigible. He seamed to be fighting to open up his eyes, but was failing miserably. Panicked, Basil dropped the lock in favor of rushing over to the other side of the cage to be closer to her friend.

"Dawson, please wake up! You can't fall asleep now! Wake up! David! Wake up!"

The use of his first name seamed to have a visible effect on the doctor. Grumpily, he had finally opened his eyes, taking his time to have them to bring the room back into focus.

"B-Basil?" he asked, thinking for a moment that his eyes were playing tricks on him. "Basil… what… how?"

The detective, always a practical mouse, moved back to the cage's lock, trying to get it open before the matchstick burned down completely. But just as her paw touched the lock, Dawson's larger, colder one stopped her from attempting to open it.

"Basil… Sherry, listen to me!" he had told her with such fear and desperation in his voice that Basil involuntarily drew back in shock. "You need to get out of here. Now, before they come back!"

_They? _Basil instantly became angry. Her friend was shivering from ears to tail and appeared to be nursing a broken knee, and somebody – instead of helping him – placed him in a bird cage?

"Who's done this to you?"

"No time for answers!" he all but shouted. "You _must _go _now_!"

"Do not be foolish! I'm getting you out right now then we'll be out of here …" she stopped, for while attempting to calm down her friend, she started searching in her bag for something she could use as a skeleton key, but instead of what she expected to find (some food, some bandages or other related things) she came across something _fluffy_. Pulling said 'thing' out, she felt murderous.

"YOU!" she yelled at the pesky bee that's been causing her trouble all day long. How did it even _get _in her bag?! "Wha-"

Basil would have given the creature a scolding it would never forget, but that proved to be impossible for several things happened simultaneously in that instant. Something, something _enormous_, seized her shoulder and wrenched her around. The matchstick he had been holding flipped from her fingers, going dead in the process and thus leaving the darkness claim the room once more. There was a roar around her, a sound of pure anger that somehow managed to form itself into words: _"What are you doing here?"_

She could hear Dawson screaming, ordering her to run, but she was unable to do so. That voice that asked that question… she could recognize that voice anywhere, but she refused to believe that he could still be alive. It was simply not possible.

"Who … Who are you?" she manages to ask and even in the darkness she could have sworn she felt the stranger lift an eyebrow. With unsteady fingers, Basil searched her pockets for the matchbox while the figure, like it was sensing her distress, merely chuckled.

"It's not polite to answer a question with a question, my good man." The figure had said in a sickening sweet voice. Basil gulped, and tried to tell herself that it could not be the same voice that still haunted Basil's nightmares. It simply could not.

The figure started pacing – she could hear the echo of its footsteps on the cold stone floor. Apparently, it was still waiting for an answer. Barely managing to keep her voice from shaking, she said: "I have come for my friend. Did you lock him in this cage?"

"What if I did?" the figure answered in the same sweet tone.

_Where was that match?_ "Then I demand you set him free." She said with determination, making the figure launch into a fit of maniacal laughter. Apart from that, Basil could hear more footsteps coming towards them, footsteps that soon transform into laughter, and from somewhere where she couldn't quite point out, a creature that she could identify as a pent-legged bat came in, an old sewer lamp in hand.

_Fidget?_

"Just what…" the figure began to say, moving closer to her "… makes you think that you have the authority to ask such a thing of me, detective?" The way he had said that, so much like her former enemy, scared her beyond reason. There was no way that someone could have survived _that _fall! But there were certain aspects… certain details, she couldn't quite miss. With the aid of the light Fidget had brought with him she could now make out some general aspects of the mysterious figure. For starters: it was tall – _very _tall… and large… almost like a… rat…

"Such a minuscule creature such as yourself… Why, if anyone with half your brains would hear of such a thing he would most certainly claim that you have lost your marbles. Though, from the expression on your face that is not quite so far from the truth."

In the middle of the stranger's rant, Basil managed to locate her matchbox and with shaking hands, she lit up her very last match. What she saw then, made her immediately drop it in pure horror: the eyes of one professor Patrick James Ratigan were examining her every move and gesture.

"What is wrong, old fellow? You look as if you have seen a ghost."

"I believe I have" Basil had muttered those words without actually thinking them. Ratigan has burst into a whole new laughing fit at that.

"Well…" Ratigan said after calming down. "I do believe that my appearance was rather… shocking, wouldn't you agree? I thought so. Well, it was bound to come out sooner or later anyway. After all, I _was _planning on inviting you over for a visit these days, but it appeared you saved me the trouble of sending out the invitation. Knowing the weather and the fishes, it would have floated to Scotland Yard in about a week's time." He eyed the doctor at that, and Basil couldn't stop from shaking. She knew very well what he meant by that.

Dawson's hand shot from between the bars of the bird cage and caught Basil's upper arm. She turned to him and saw the fear in his eyes as he shook his head, begging her to leave him, to run while she still could. But after just one look at his bloodshot eyes and tired expression, she knew that running alone was not an option anymore. If she was to leave Dawson there, there were no guarantees that he would live till morning. Plus, Ratigan wouldn't ever leave her go just like that. She did the math: escape for her was impossible unless she wanted the doctor's blood on her hands. But maybe, just maybe, she could change things concerning her friend's condition…

"I'm happy I saved you the trouble, _Rat_igan. But now that I am here I see no reason for you to keep Dawson down here as well. You have what you wanted, so why not let him go?" she asked him, showing more bravery then she ever thought she could manage.

Ratigan quirked an eyebrow "After my men went to all this trouble to find the stamps and envelope?" He motioned at two of his henchmen who were holding up a large rock and rope.

"You did say that you had no need of sending an invitation any longer, meaning that he has no further use of him. So why not just let him go?"

Ratigan laughed. "Oh, my dear detective, you're quite the laugh, I must say … But just for the sake of amusement, tell me: what reason would I have to simply let him go? He did pretty much barge into my house, so as master of this place, I have the right to punish trespassers as I see fit. And now that I think about it, Felicia has been looking pretty thin lately. A little snack would do her well."

The thought of that cat looking thin seamed pretty much impossible, but for the moment she needed to stick to her plan. "Be as it may, Ratigan, but if you will simply kill us now then your victory will never be complete."

All joy seamed to drain off of Ratigan's face, making enough room for his anger and annoyance as well as mild curiosity to take full display. "And why is that, I ask?"

"Because _this – _" she motioned around her. " – was pure chance. You had no idea I would be here, and nether did I. Nobody was prepared for what is happening here now, and you know that simply taking advantage of the situation will never do. A victory will not be complete unless one fully outwits the other or one of us shall admit defeat."

The larger rodent looked thoughtful at her words. Apparently, he was seeing the logic in the detective's words. After all – this was pretty much their game, and it _was _the last thing he had to occupy his time with.

"Very well" he said finally. "What do you propose?"

"I'll make a barging with you." She said simply. "I'll admit defeat, name you winner in front of any person you choose me to do so, and all out of my own free will – _if _you agree to release Dawson and see that he reaches home safely."

"Sherry, NO! You don't know what you're saying!" Dawson screamed, pulling at her sleeve, but Basil wouldn't let her stray eyes off of Ratigan.

"You know…" the larger rodent said "You have a lot of guts for a measly little pipsqueak. I could slice you to bits right here and now, after feeding chubby there to Felicia, that is. I could also mutilate you beyond recognition before sending your corpse to Scotland Yard and much, much worse… Are you not scared at all?"

Truth be told, Basil was doing everything she could not to show how perfectly petrified she was.

"But I'll admit, that offer of yours is quite tempting…" he paused to light his cigarette and when he was putting the steel lighter away she noticed there was a symbol on its surface. But she had no time to analyze that little bit of information for Ratigan, with a devious glow in his eyes, quickly continued: "I'll say what we're going to do here. You must promise me – no, better yet: you give me your word as the greatest detective in all of Mousedom that you shall stay here, as my prisoner, as my _trophy_, for the remaining of my lifetime, and I will let chubby go and tell everyone what has become of the great Basil of Baker Street."

During all this time, Dawson has been looking between the two foes in awe. He could not believe that Basil was willing to throw away all she had worked to hard to achieve for him. She was still so young, and now when things in her life seamed to have turned for the better _this _happens. But she could still get out. The doctor could create a diversion and she could somehow get… but she wouldn't.

One last time, he tried to reason with her. "Sherry… _please _don't do it!" he begged, but Basil merely turned to look at him and offered him a weak, sad smile. She squeezed his hand, probably to give him hope, but he knew that once she started approaching Ratigan with an air of determination he could not believe she was capable of showing, he knew that her mind was made up.

"Do we have a deal?" asked Ratigan with a grin on his face.

Bringing up all the courage she had left, she forced herself to say the most painful four words she ever had to say. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, and silently prayed to whatever force that existed up there that Dawson will be able to forgive her.

"You have my word."

"Done!" He cried, letting out a roar of victory. She felt, rather than saw, some of his henchmen move past her, heard them unlock the birdcage door and heard them drag Dawson away, despite the doctor's protests. She no longer had the strength to look at him, had no more hope to try and give to him. Laughs and cries of "congratulations boss" could be heard all around her and the smell of champagne could be felt in the air. As Dawson's cries started to die down in the distance, she continued to remain stiff and perfectly still, hardly even breather, for she knew that if she did anything else, she might simply break down.

The humiliation was more then her honor could bear, but it was well worth it, for at least Dawson was now free…

"Well now, detective" Ratigan said in his sweet voice, intending to add a little more salt to the pain he knew his enemy was feeling "I do believe a celebration of my victory is in order. But first, can I hear those two beautiful words again?"

Her response was automatic: "You won"

"Pardon me, I do believe I did not quite catch that." But the grin on his face said otherwise. Still, he cupped his ear with a hand for effect, despite the fact that Basil couldn't see it. The room became silent.

"You won!" she all but screamed, causing Ratigan and his men explode into new fits of laughter.

"Yes, yes, detective, I know. But now it's getting late and as much as I know these boys would like to party until morning, I recon it's time I take you to your room."

That opened her eyes.

"My… room?" maybe she heard wrong or maybe Ratigan was toying with her. She noticed that he was grinning, but she could read no sign of deception.

"But of course!" was his response, as if it was completely natural. "Now, don't tell me you believed that I would keep you in this old birdcage, now did you?"

She started to nod, but after the look Ratigan gave her she immediately started to shake her head.

"Good man. Now, come with me. Fidget, you come along too. The rest of you, prepare for the party!"

A carouse of "yeses" erupted from his men, and last Basil saw of them as she was lead by Ratigan out of the cellar, they were indeed preparing for a party.

"Now –" Ratigan said "While you're living with us, I expect you to be on your best behavior. That means no escaping, no angering me and no complaining. You shall receive one meal per day so I suggest you eat it. Also, I shall be summoning from time to time for entertainment purposes, so I do hope you're not too fond of sleep. If you need anything else, like say, a book to read or something, then ask your guard. If he'll be feeling generous, then maybe he will actually do what you ask."

Basil was listening, but she was not really hearing. Honestly, she didn't really care what was happening any more. As Ratigan and Fidget guided her around the villa, she kept her eyes down, only occasionally lifting them up in order to see where they were. Apparently, her new "room" was located somewhere in the attic, at the highest point of the building. Ratigan must be aware of her newly developed fear of heights, and was taking full advantage of it to torture her further.

"Ah, here we are now!" he said at last, pointing to mouse-sized door. "Now, I'm guessing we covered all grounds… Any questions, _pet_?"

She tried not to cringe at that. She also wanted to say "no" more then she would ever be able to admit, but she _did _have a question: "Yes. I… did not see any women among your henchmen…"

"Oh, please do not tell me you are like those lowlifes, detective. I had a higher opinion of you –"

"No." she cut off his teasing. "But it's just… I'm curious."

"Well, let's just say that my men are not the perfect type of company a lady would be most comfortable with. Not to mention that the last two female members of my gang hardly managed to survive a few hours. And I'm not talking about Felicia and her appetite." Basil felt the blood drain from her face. She couldn't be happier for fur, for if Ratigan was to see her pale…

"And if that's all…" she immediately nodded. "I do believe it's time I bid you good night. Fidget here will bring you something later. "

Basil stood stock-still as the door slammed behind her. Nausea swept over her, and she barely contained the urge to vomit. Using the door for support, she slowly slid to the floor. Oh, she so hoped that Dawson would be fine, and that someone like Clawes will figure out what the clue she had slipped into the doctor's pocket meant.

Tired, hurting and psychologically drained, she did what she hasn't done since she was a child: she cried.

* * *

(1) Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche (October 15, 1844 – August 25, 1900) was a 19th-century German philosopher and classical philologist. He wrote critical texts on religion, morality, contemporary culture, philosophy and science, using a distinctive German-language style and displaying a fondness for metaphor, irony and aphorism. I personally both hate and love his theories, and I feel that his controversial works could easily be embraced by one such a Ratigan (I mean, come on! It's painfully obvious!). And yes, he did suffer a mental breakdown on January 3, 1889. Also, note: all quotes used in this chapter are taken from his work, The Madman (section 125).

* * *

_Dearest me! Ratigan has made an appearance! And what do you know, he reads Nietzsche! If you are to ask me, it makes sense. Nietzsche's philosophy is a harsh, almost cruel vision of life and of our society and Ratigan looks like the anarchic one - one willing to be a 'god' among the followers. But now comes the mystery:_

_How exactly did Ratigan survive? And how will Basil manage to survive in this enviorment? Will Dawson really make it home all-right, or has Basil's sacrifice been in vain? And what of the murders? For the answer to all these questions and more, we shall meet again in the next chapter - two weeks from now._

_Reviews are always welcome and greatly appreciated!_


	8. Chapter seven

**_Whispers in the Dark_**

**Chapter seven**

_It was dark, like the inside of a closed box or in the tunnel of a mole, only this time it was at a much larger scale. And there were voices, voices that seemed to be coming from all around her, yet from nowhere at the same time. Some of them seemed to be talking about the weather, others about their mother-in-laws. It was complete chaos, for none of this made any actual sense… _

_**Wrong one again…**__ said a deep, strong and disappointed voice. __**How hard can it be to find one perfect pupa, you stupid rodent! **__It was barely a whisper, but somehow, that one voice seemed to dominate all the others. _

"_We are doing all we can, my lord." Another voice had answered it, much louder, yet less strong as the first._

_**Well, "all you can" is not quite enough! Must I remind you that we must find the pupa before the gates are sealed? Hmm?**_

"_No, my lord."_

_**See that you don't. Now, go and find another candidate, and ask the **__**gyðja for another skin. And make sure you mention that I want a strong one this time. I barely managed to keep the old one from burning long enough for…**_

"_My lord?"_

_But the whisper never returned. Instead, the darkness seemed to bend out of shape and reveal something that should not be seen by mortal eyes. And then, without a warning, two bloody eyes appeared right in front of her._

Basil woke up with a gasp. Her heart was racing and her breath was coming in quick, uneven breaths. What a confusing dream, or dare she call it nightmare? She was not certain, for it was nothing frightening, per say, but whatever it was, it won't let her fall asleep again.

Speaking of sleeping, _how _did she actually fall asleep in the first place? She didn't remember going to bed. In fact, the last thing she remembered was looking for Dawson and… This was not her room.

Poor, shaggy drippings were partially hiding the dark wooden walls and a human napkin seemed to take the place of a carpet. Cardboard boxes and pieces of stray seemed to be taking up the role of a bed and furniture and from what her eyes could tell her, the pale, shy light that made it possible for her to see came from a large window.

Slowly she tried to get back on her feet, almost falling back down when her knees bucked underneath her weight. In doing so, it occurred to her that she had somehow fallen asleep on the floor, right in front of the door. Also, from the odd taste in her mouth it appeared the she had _cried _herself to sleep…

Then, almost instantly, memories of past events came back to her. She remembered that group or rats, she remembered going into the human villa of Regent Park, remembered accidentally breaking a vase, remembered Dawson in a birdcage and above all others, she remembered Ratigan.

It seemed too impossible to be real. In fact it _was _impossible. All the laws of physics were proving the exact opposite of what she had witnessed with her own two eyes, but even so, she could not ignore the fact that Ratigan was indeed alive and well.

… and she, Basil of Baker Street, agreed to be his _trophy._

"Good job, girl…" she murmured to herself, stretching and bending her stiff limbs and back as much as her poor body would allow it. It wasn't a pleasant thing to do, especially since her right arm was troubling her again, but Dawson told her that in situations such as this, it was necessary. After all, she didn't want to suffer from rheumatism at old age, now did she?

Still, even after her routine stretching exercises the aching of her right arm still didn't subside. It wasn't actually painful – more like annoying – but it was still bothering her, and she wasn't ready to add a bad arm to her growing list of unpleasantries. It was when she finally approached the window that she came aware of two things. One: it was snowing, thus explaining her bad arm; and two: she was _very_ high up.

"Oh, God…" one step back, then another, then another until her back touched the door. Ratigan had a very twisted sense of humor. A run-down room… she could live with that, but a room this high up?!

"Buzz…" It must have been for the first time that she was glad to hear that noise; mostly because it served as a nice distraction. And the fact that it was coming from outside her room was a pretty bonus.

… _What?_

Peaking through the keyhole, she first spotted Fidget snoring soundly, an empty bottle of Rodent's Delight in his lap – _Bright and alert as always… _– and right next to him, the little bee-menace… who was holding up a key?

"Bee? What are you doing out there?! Are you trying to get yourself killed? Wait… Are you trying to get _me_ killed?" The bee shook its head at that and made a sign using a free pair of 'hands'. The little menace was using sign language! "Open the door?" Basil asked, unable to believe exactly what she was seeing. Before her brain was actually able to process the information, the bee started signing again:

"_Because you're locked in and all alone. It's not fun being locked up. Especially not alone. Me knows you not like me, but me likes you. Me wants to help you."_

Curious, she kept watching at the little insect. It flew up to the key hole then and waved at her with a hand before proceeding in sticking the key in its hole and unlocking the door. Basil was impressed.

"Seems you're not such a dumb creature after all… tolerable even you you're not working on transforming my life into a living hell" She told the insect in a whisper after she had opened the door for it (couldn't afford waking the bat, after all). For once, she didn't mind it throwing itself at her chest as if it was cuddling her. In fact, that strange habit of it actually made her giggle.

"Yes, you're a regular thinker when you want to, aren't you?" she asked it then, pulling the thing at arm's length to take a better look at her. A though just accrued to her then. "Hmm … you know, that actually seems to suit you. And since – despite my earlier attempts to get rid of you – it appears that we'll be stuck here for a while, I can't really keep calling you bee, now can I? So, how does 'Thinker' sound for a name? It might even remind you that you need to use your brain for once in a while."

The bee looked thoughtful for a moment before joyously nodding its head. Yes, Thinker seemed to like its new name.

"Very well then, Thinker it is." She smiled. At least she wasn't completely alone anymore.

"_Thank you, mama."_

Half an hour later, the bee was busy buzzing around the room, building up her skills. It looked pleased with itself and it had every reason to do so. After all, it did get the mouse everybody call Basil to accept her (although not quite under the circumstances it hoped it would happen). Big Mouse asked Tinker to take care of the one everyone called Basil; also said not to let her know he asked it to do so. Now, _that _was not hard for Thinker, because Thinker really liked Basil, despite first impressions. The mouse reminded it of its queen: proud, strong, stubborn and noble – for a true honey bee such as Thinker, it was impossible not to like such a person and wish to protect her, no matter how hard Basil had scolded and explained to her that she was _not _its mama.

Completely oblivious to Thinker's line of thinking was Basil who was desperately trying to warm up, or at least forget about that dream. At first she tried to make her new 'room' somewhat livable, starting by moving everything as far away from the window as possible. That managed to distract her for a while, but eventually, she found herself completely bored with the activity… and utterly miserable.

"You're a lucky thing, you know?" she told Thinker, wrapping a piece of fabric around her shoulders. "Not a care in the world apart from your next meal… Which reminds me, when did you last eat anything?"

The bee stopped it's buzzing to look at her. It stood for a moment there, thinking things through and then signed her: _not too long ago…_

She didn't believe it, especially since the little thing's stomach took it as its cue to be heard.

Basil couldn't help giggling at that. Opening her handbag, she took out one of Mrs. Judson home-made crumpets and handed it to the little thing that, upon laying eyes on the treat, wasted no time to devour it.

"Easy there now, no eating it whole. You'll only make yourself sick." _And we need to save food_, she reminded herself. Ratigan said that she would get only one meal per day, so every bit of food stashed away helped, especially since there was no telling when exactly the one meal was going to be served. As of now, she had four crumpets, not counting the two she ate a little while back and the one she just gave to Thinker. Now, if she was to eat one and a half per supper and saved three quarters for the bee… They were hardly enough to keep them for another day.

And to make matters worse, she forgot to take her medicine with her.

Oh, what was she going to do? She was held captive in a freezing attic with nothing but a bee that up until now only managed to get her in trouble. Ratigan was alive and was currently her new _owner_, meaning that at any time he could do whatever he wished with her. He was a rat after all; there was no telling what he would do next. And those were just the most recent of problems! There were also two dead girls and two mysteriously incinerated murderers on Vole's hands, a possible criminal mastermind roaming the streets of London and for all she knew, a very worried Mrs. Judson and two waiting inspectors in her sitting-room. She had too many things to do to be locked up! And then there was Dawson. You never know what Ratigan's henchman understand by the word "safe"… and she just remembered about Toby! God, she told him to stay! Could it be that he was still out there? In this weather?

She moved over to the door and slowly opened it ajar. Peaking out, she saw Fidget still pretty much out of it. There was no better chance then now.

"Think, I'll be going out for a bit. No, you're not coming. I'm just going to check up on Toby and… No, I'm not going away so quit your… And no, there's no need for that, either. I'll be back before anybody notices I'm gone. But you just stay here and keep an eye on Fidget in case he wakes up. All-right, Think?"

Basil didn't wait for the bee to answer that before slipping out and carefully closing the door behind her. She wasn't worried about waking Fidget anymore though (that bat could sleep through a thunderstorm, apparently), but from what she could recall, Ratigan had a lot of henchmen at his command and not all of them seemed dumb.

Still, first impressions aren't always the ones that really count.

As she made her way through the hallways, she couldn't help noticing how oddly quiet it was. No traces of life anywhere, only wood, marble and the occasional cobwebs (she really hoped their owners were not around anymore). But that was alright with her. After all, she didn't know her way around this particular labyrinth well enough yet, so best be cautions. That was before she found that Ratigan's henchmen were never really an issue, for just as she was turning a corner she almost tripped over something… that is, someone. It really shouldn't have surprised her to see all of Ratigan's men snoring on the floor (and occasionally on chairs, tables and statues), drunk as a mouse could get.

Had her teeth not been clenching as bad as they were, she would have sighed at the sight. You'd say a genius like Ratigan would know better and actually hire some more reliable men.

"Oh Ratigan… oh, Ratigan – hick! Three cheers for the… I forgot…" Confounded! She knew better than to let her guard down! Of course someone was still awake! There was _always_ someone awake!

Not even bothering to see who it really was, she ducked in the nearest corridor. Heart racing, she listened, and came close to panicking for the third (or was it fourth?) time in the last 24 hours when she heard the henchman coming closer towards her hiding place. Looking around, her eyes landed on the shape of two double-doors with a big, bold "R" painted on them. She would bet her tail that was Ratigan's room – and there was no way she was going in there!

But there was no other place to hide.

"Oh well… To Ratigan, to Ratigan, the word's greatest- " Bill the lizard could have sworn that the door to the boss's room just closed and he passed by on his rounds, but he decided to blame it all on the ale as he walked away, intending to check on the detective. Knowing Fidget, that goof-ball was most certainly asleep on the job.

Little did he know that on the other side the doors he though he imagined closing was Basil of Baker Street, right ear pressed to the wooden surface, listening.

It was all reflex. She knew that it was monumentally dumb of her to enter Ratigan's room of all places. But being caught out of her room would most certainly get her in trouble. Still, wasn't getting caught in her captor's room worse? What was wrong with her! She needed to get out of here!

Her hand was already pressed on the handle when she noticed two things: one was that Ratigan was not there, and two was that there was a fire burning in the heart.

At that point, she didn't really care if she was going to be caught or not. In an instant, she was by the fire, warming up her freezing paws.

_Much better… _she thought as she could finally feel the blood flowing through her veins properly again. Slightly warmer now, she dared take a better look around her and came to the conclusion that the room was… well, not quite what she had expected.

Ratigan's room was literally huge, and in her eyes it resembled a royal suite more then a rat's simple bed chambers. Or at least, it would have resembled a royal suite had the shattered couches been intact, the paintings not shredded heaps of canvas and the carpets nothing but balls of silken fluff. Maybe, this wasn't Ratigan's room after all. This place was simply… devastated, and Ratigan always took great care in his appearance and even more in the appearance of the places he occupied (if his former hideout under The Rat Trap was offering her any clues on the matter). Maybe this could just be some extra room where he and his men were exercising fighting techniques (the claw marks on the walls were sustaining that theory pretty well), but then why was there a half-empty bottle of wine by one of the armchairs? And what was it with this smell of mold and dust? As if nobody has set foot in this room for ages? Thinking back a bit, she realized that the door didn't open quite so easily. But then why was the fire going? The place was a huge contradiction.

All of the sudden, Basil felt something move close to her ankles. Instinctively, she jumped just before she noticed that it was just piece from a chair she must have accidentally moved with her foot.

Laughing at her own stupidity, she stretched a bit as she took another look at the room. She spotted the photograph of her, Dawson and Olivia on one of the walls. She was surprised it was in such good condition considering how everything else in the room looked. Above the fireplace, she noticed a few mouse-sized books; some of them bearing some very interesting titles. She never knew Ratigan was much of a philosopher and… hello?

Right above the fireplace was a lone un-shattered portrait of a young lady mouse. Moving closer, Basil could tell that the one who painted this was very talented. He (or she) had captured the mouse's every single detail with great accuracy, like they were trying to tell the viewer the life story of their model. Just by looking at the picture Basil could tell that she must have been a mouse that worked around fire. The artist had made her fur slightly burned around the hands and there were traces of baking soda or flower or flowers stuck to it (she couldn't really tell since it _was_ a painting)… A cook or a baker maybe? But then again, her dress didn't much fit the rest of her. Yes, it looked simple enough, much like the type any normal Victorian lady was to wear, but it also looked way too fancy for the mouse in the painting. Basil wasn't much of a painter, but it looked to her that the girl and the decorations didn't seem to fit together. It was like they were taken from two different eras. In fact, all that actually seamed to fit was the pendant around her neck and even that was…

Narrowing her eyes, Basil took a closer look at said pendant. It couldn't be… Pulling out her little notebook she scanned the pages until she reached her notes from yesterday. Yes, there was no mistaking it. The symbol she had found burned at the scene of the crime was identical with the one on the girl's pendant.

A sudden memory came to mind. Last night, when Ratigan lit his cigarette, there was some sort of an engraving on his lighter. She didn't give it much though at the moment since the she had other problems to deal with at that time, but now that she was here and had time to mull it over… Could it be possible that Ratigan was responsible for all those murders?

A shadow suddenly passed over her, placing itself between her and the portrait. She felt pressure on her right upper-arm and realized that Ratigan was there.

"_What are you doing here?"_

Her heart skipped a beat at those words. Ratigan's grip on her hand tightened, blocking the blood from flowing though her hand. The rat was angry, that much was certain. Despite her rapidly increasing fear, she dared to look up, only to meet a pair of angry red eyes.

She stood corrected: Ratigan was VERY angry.

"I ask again: _what_ do you think you're doing here?" he snarled, pushing her away from him. She stumbled back a few paces before tripping over a chair. He did not give her time to get back on her feet. "How dare you come snooping around my room? And right after I left that pathetic lump go free? After I didn't kill you on the spot? After I spared your miserable life, you come out _sneaking _and_ riffling _through my things?! How DARE YOU?!"

"I'm sorry! I never meant to -" she tried to explain herself, but that only seemed to make Ratigan's even angrier.

"Never meant to _wha_t?" he bellowed so loudly Basil ducked her head. "To foil my each and every plan? To throw me off of Big Ben? To take away from me the only things that still mean something to me in this life? What, you cursed bastard? _WHAT?!_" Ratigan was fuming by now, spitting out everything and anything that came to mind. There were few times when he lost his cool, but when it came to the detective there was nothing keeping him back from lashing out. And he knew that Basil would get out of that room sooner or later. He was counting on it (he needed a reason to torment the mouse for honor's sake). But finding the little pipsqueak in his room, with his things, looking at _her _painting?! He was not playing games any more, he was murderous.

He half expected the mouse to shriek away from him in fright. Instead, to his immense surprise, the detective's head snapped up and she looked him full in the face. Basil's eyes were blazing pinpoints of fury.

"You _dare_," she snapped, in a hiss that matched his own. "You _dare _accuse me of such acts when you yourself have done worse to so many countless others? What about Allen Hopkins? Was robbing him of his family and his eyesight worth it? Just because he spotted your stupid fake jewelry? Or how about the Franklins? Did they deserve to be robbed of their home and possessions like that? Or how about the Maples? Mr. Scourgy? Ms. Eleanor and her family? Patricia Elder? David Ector? Margaret Daniels? Shall I continue? _You _are the one who is robbing people of all those things they most care about, you disgusting sewer rat! You crush the hope and happiness of every living soul that you touch and I wouldn't be surprised if the same happened with that girl in the painting!"

She might as well have slapped him in the face. Never had anybody ever spoken to him on such a tone, and nobody ever talk about _her_, especially not like _that! Nobody!_

"_Get out_!" Ratigan growled out almost incomprehensibly.

When she moved too slowly, he reached forward and his claws snagged on the sleeve of her coat. She yanked away with a cry of terror. Looking down, she saw three deep rips were left in the fabric. Proving once again that faith had an affinity for drama a gust of wind blew down the chimney right at that second and the flames in the heart behind Ratigan jumped to almost touch him. Making his shadow grow to gigantic proportions and adding to the fire in his eyes.

For a moment, neither spoke a word. Ratigan stood there, mouth hanging open, amazed on how easily he had lost control. He looked up from his claws to Basil and found the mouse petrified with fear. Slowly, the detective took one shaky step back, then another, and another before she fled the room. She had bumped into Bill at the door (who kept crying out that the prisoner was out and that there was a killer bee after him), but she didn't stop running.

A couple of henchmen must have woken up as she ran past and jumped over them, but she didn't care. Promise or no promise, she was not going to stay in the same building as that rat a moment longer.

"Get him, you fools!" she heard Ratigan shout just as she slipped outside through the little hole in the front door. She did not look back, she could not look back. That rat almost killed her when she hesitated. She could only imagine what he would do with her if she was caught. Leaving nature to cover her tracks, she just kept running as fast as her legs could carry her.

"Toby, are you there?" she called out as soon as she had reached a suitable distance from the villa. Seems he was not dumb enough to stay put in the middle of a snowstorm. Seeing that she would receive no response, she started running again, intending on getting as far away from Ratigan as she possibly could. It didn't matter that the falling snow was making it impossible for her to see where she was going, but anywhere was better then back there.

"Oh, hello there!"

Basil gasped and froze. No, no, no, no, this was not happening! The rat from yesterday, the one from the gang Toby scared off the other day was standing right in front of her. He recently had acquired a very nasty scar over his right eye and appeared to be missing a bit of his tail. If she ever came out of this one alive, she will have to give the basset hound an extra yummy treat.

She started to slowly retreat when the rat laughed. "What's the matter dolly? Are you not happy to see us?" The use of 'us' did not go unnoticed by Basil, nor did the fact that she was surrounded by his gang members. "By the look on your face I'd guess not, but then, who am I to try and read people? I'm terrible at poker."

This was bad. The rats were closing in on her, and with each step they took, she knew her chances of escape were decreasing. She had to come up with a plan, and fast.

"Now, come on dolly, stop being so jumpy. We ain't gonna hurt ye'. Right Fritz?" a rat from her right said. She knew he was giving her false reassurances, but he also had no way of knowing she just gave her an idea on how to escape.

"Right, Bart! We is just gonna have some fun in the snow, that we are." Another rat responded. She knew exactly what he meant by 'fun', and she didn't plan on sticking around for that, especially after his cruel notion of a joke had also give her an idea or two.

Now which one should she chose?

"Please, gentlemen!" Said the leader. "Let's not scare our little puppet. Dolly here doesn't even know us yet. Now, I say we should start by remedying that little problem. Do not worry, everybody will get their fair share of time to introduce themselves … after me, of course." His gang laughed.

Well, when in doubt, do both!

Faster than she believed she could ever move, she pretended slipping, cupped up a hand of fresh snow and threw it at the leader. The rat involuntarily ducked, not knowing that the ball itself could not hurt him given the fact that the snow was still too fresh for it. Basil took full advantage of this and rushed forwards, jumping over the rat.

"Get 'em!" their leader cried. Ha! As if she was going to let them catch her.

And just to make sure, she pulled out her magnifying glass out of her pocket and threw it towards a branch above the group. The result: a well-placed snowfall on a few unfortunate rats. But there was no reason to rejoice.

Pushing her already aching body beyond its limits, Basil dodged and jumped out of the reach of the ones who were fortunate enough to not get buried in snow until finally, after avoiding what would have been a particularly nasty gash in her side, she tripped over a stone she did not see in the snow and came stumbling down a hill, right into the river.

She struggled to get out of the freezing water, slipping a couple of times on the rock near the shore, but eventually found her way back to solid ground. If she wouldn't get pneumonia after this, then she would consider herself very lucky.

"Well boys, look what the tide dragged in."

She didn't even have time to register the words when she felt strong paws pinned her to the ground. They had caught her. Basil struggled, tried to free her arms, tried to bite, tried everything she could think of, but the others' grip was to strong on her.

"Thought you were pretty smart, didn't you?" the boss of the gang said. From her position, Basil could only see him from the waist down. Though it was pretty useless, she did her best to glare at him. "Well, sorry to break it to you puppet, but even if ya'r smart, ya's just one." Her eyes caught the shape of a knife in his hand. With all the power she still had left in her, she tried to get the other rodents off of her. It was a lost battle.

"Say goodnight, puppet!" As the knife came down, she closed here eyes in anticipation of the pain. There was none. Instead she heard a clinking sound, like metal hitting metal, then an "of" and suddenly the rats' hold on her wasn't that strong anymore.

Daring to look, she became stunned at the sight. Ratigan was there, strangling the leader of the gang with his cane.

"Well, Basil, it seems you're completely hopeless when left alone, are you not? Not that I expected anything else."

She did not know how to respond to that. The rats, on the other hand, had more than one response, one more colorful then the other

"Now, now, gentlemen! There is no need for foul language…" he squeezed the boss's windpipe just a little bit harder "… or violence."

"What the hell do you want!" cried out one of the rats that was holding her.

Ratigan smirked and let the leader go. "Oh, nothing much. I just want my property-" at this, he pointed the tip of his cane towards Basil "-back, so unless any of you fine gentlemen have any objections, then I believe we best be off our way." His words were calm, his voice steady, yet Basil felt something else in that diplomatic calmness. He was giving them all a warning, a subtle one at that, but a waning they should all head.

A dumber gang member didn't seem to catch it. "Back? Ha, you're off your rockers, fella! Catch'in this 'one wasn't easy. If you want what tha' little slut back, you're gonna have to pay us, pall."

Ratigan just stood there, smiling at the rat and toying with his cane "I believe I wasn't quite clear…" a second later, the other rat was left without a hand, and Ratigan was tucking a hidden blade back in the cane "… I _want _my property_ back_. I am not asking for it."

Some of the rats gasped, others jumped, and one pulled Basil up by the collar, nearly choking her as he did that.

"You want the slut, then come and get 'em" A knife was at Basil's neck. She didn't like the situation at all.

And nether did Ratigan from what she could see, but for entirely different reasons. The classy rodent sighed dramatically before slowly, gracefully, he took off his gloves. What followed, Basil was not sure. All she knew is that there was a lot of movement, a lot of screaming and that at some point the one that was keeping a hold on her suddenly let her go.

Her instincts taking over, Basil sprinted away from the scene, hoping to get away from this insanity. In doing so though, she found that something was wrong with her left leg. It simply couldn't sustain her weight, so with each step she took she kept stumbling down, falling back onto the cold snow.

Knowing that she was going nowhere like this, she stumbled to the base of the nearest tree and tried to find a hiding place among its roots. Hopefully, nobody would notice her there, but knowing her luck, that was not going to be the case. She was tired, she was cold, she was hurt and all in all there was nothing she could do anymore. She just wanted to fall asleep, to close her eyes for a bit …

_**Yes… yes, dearest. Sleep, yes, sleep… leave the outside word to its own musings… Leave the pain and ache behind and rest… that's it… rest, my dear, rest your tired eyes… and let me find you… **_

The voice was smooth and calming, and Basil found it hard not to listen to it… before remembering that she didn't want to die. And then there was this ticklish sensation around her ankles. Making an effort to open her eyes, she nearly jumped out of her skin when she noticed the big, black spider that had taken an interest in her.

Fully alert now, she kicked the creature away. She wasn't planning on getting eaten ether!

After the creature was gone, she listened intensely to what was going on around her. Oddly enough, everything was silent. (Could it be that she actually fell asleep in the middle of all _that_?!) She dared to take a peak over the root and found that the gang of rats was nowhere to be seen. More confident now, she fully emerged from her hiding place, her eyes searching the surroundings for any signs of movement.

A full minute passed in which she was cautiously looking and listening for anything that might represent a threat to her. Luckily, she didn't find anything of the sort… but she did stumble upon the very still form of Ratigan lying on the ground, half covered by new snow.

Upon seeing him, her first impulse was to rush to him, check if he was still alive. But then she remembered that this was the notorious Professor Ratigan, the horror of her every waking moment! If he was to die there, then she couldn't care less. That though in mind, she limped in the opposite direction. If lucky, she might reach Baker Street by noon.

She barely managed to cover a couple of feet before a strange, clicking sound was heard. By now, Basil was quite fed up with all the surprises this day was bringing her. Looking around, she could have sworn that she saw a spider hiding at the base of a nearby tree. Maybe the same one that she kicked earlier… But wait a moment… were spiders supposed to be up and about in this weather?

Eyes narrowed, Basil looked back at the place where she believed she saw the spider. Much to her surprise, it really was there and it was watching her with many hungry, red eyes (did spiders even have red eyes?!), and much to her horror, it was not alone.

"Dear Lord above! What have I done to deserve this!" she screamed in panic at the sight. Now, a little bit of bad luck she could understand, but what the hell was happening here?! First Ratigan, then a band of rats, now spiders?! Why did it have to be spiders?! She hated spiders!

She started to run, despite the constant pain in her leg, when two different things occurred to her at the same time: the spiders looked hungry and Ratigan was lying unconscious in the snow.

"Serves the rat right! It's not my problem!" she tried to convince herself, but the louder the spider's clinking was getting, the more troubles she had believing that.

"_Oh, to hell with it!_"

She told herself that she had gone mad. She must have! Why else was she running back towards Ratigan, why else was she dusting the snow off him, why else was she checking for a pulse (and felt both miserable and relieved that he actually had one) and why was she trying to wake him up?

"Ratigan! Ratigan, wake up, you fool! RATIGAN!!!" She tried screaming in his ear, she tried slapping him across the face, she tried punching him – nothing worked. The rat was out cold.

And the spiders were getting closer.

"Curse you Ratigan!" Basil screamed in exasperation. Yes, she knew she was mad – why else would she force herself to drag him back towards the villa, a horde of spiders right on their tails?

Yes, Basil of Baker Street must have gone mad. But after such a morning, who was to blame her?

* * *

_Oh, we're going into dark territory right now (and I am somewhat wondering if you guys think I should take the rating a step up), but all the same, this chapter is full of clues. Also, cookies for the ones who guess where I got the inspiration for this chapter :3 But still, everything somehow became a great deal more complicated. And what's Ratigan's connection to all of this? Can he actually be the brains of all of this? And just who was the girl in the portrait?_

_For the answers to these questions and more, we shall meet again in the next chapter!_

_Reviews are always welcome and greatly appreciated!_


	9. Chapter eight

**_Whispers in the Dark_**

**Chapter eight  
**

"Come now, sir, it will just be for a couple of minutes. A hot tea and some crumpets are going to do you wonders."

"I do not want tea and crumpets! Never enjoyed them much… neither did I ever enjoy Bassu's company, or his house. I get the feeling that I'm some sort of a living experiment whenever I enter that flat. No. We just go, see if he has anything new for us and then we get right back at the Yard where there is _some_ form of normality."

"Inspector, you know that there is no way to control someone's taste in decorations."

"Which gives me no good reason to like 'em. Oh, you didn't hear me say this, but I really hope he has something for us. One spooky murder – it happens all the time. Two – very well, I can live with that. But _three _cases in which the murderer randomly combusts is simply too much for any police officer to bear."

"Come now, inspector, you…"

"Don't you dare, Clawes! I know very well what you are going to say but I refuse to do so!"

"Sir, now you're being paranoid."

"I am not!" Vole cried out, not caring that by doing so he had also drawn the attention of innocent by-passers. "In the past forty-eight hours I have learned that when ever I _try _to relax, when I _think _that somehow we are one step closer to solving this mess _something _always happens to throw us back! No, not us – but _me_! The superintendent is putting pressure on _me_ because it is _I _who had been assigned this case!"

Detective Inspector Clawes sighed then promptly tightened his coat around him. This week certainly started nicely. First the snowstorm, then word from Constable Hayek that _another _murder had taken place at the fish market. Again: a girl in her mid twenties was killed, locked in an ice-room were she literally froze to death, and the murderer, burned to death in a inexplicable fire, inside the same frozen room with no signs of any combustible materials.

It was of little surprise to find that Chief Inspector Gregory Vole was a pack of high strung nerves.

"Two days, Clawes! It has been two days now since people started dying in this city and the only explanation you and Basil were able to come up with was a _rare brain anomaly_!"

"Vole…"

"I need to think… Now, if I am to go look up the records for – no, I already done that. I'll talk to the witnesses again! Yes! Someone must have seen something that they forgot about… or something they are trying to hide…"

"Inspector Vole!" Clawes shouted, moving to shake his panicking superior. Vole was shaking from ear to tale, and to Clawes, he looked close to falling into cardiac arrest. "For the love of God, calm down man! You won't be doing anyone any good if you pass out. Now let's take some calming, deep breaths…"

Taking deep breaths, Vole tried to do as he was told. He knew Clawes was right. He didn't have to let the stress get to him. But then why wasn't he getting enough air? Oh, right. He wasn't breathing properly. Now, how was it again? In… out… in… out…

"Better now?" Clawes asked, making sure that the inspector wasn't faking it. The man could be terribly stubborn when he wished.

"Yes, Clawes…" Vole took another breath. "Yes, I feel better now. Thank you, lad."

"Good, because you gave me quite a scare there, inspector." Which was quite understandable. Vole was known as one of the most seasoned officers on the police force. The fact that he looked so close to a heart attack was a good reason for anyone to worry.

"Yes… Well, you'd be on the edge too if you were in my place." Vole said in his defense. "The new superintendent is simply driving me insane! You'd say that one who's just been promoted would be a bit more considerate with us, _lower ones_. Instead this one had made it his mission to make our lives miserable. Imagine, giving all these new assignments and these blasted inspections… And he's inspecting my department any day now … Speaking of which, you know what he did to Copper?"

"The constable in charge of the Regent Park area?"

"One and the same. Well, the superintendent inspected his patrol now a week or so ago, complimented the old man for keeping the place tidy, then almost drove Copper to suicide by listing all the wrongs in the area. The poor fellow was simply beside himself when the inspection was over. Last Friday, I learned that he was shipped off to Greengap the next day on cause of 'neglecting his duties'. Bullocks, if you ask me! Copper was the best there was. And he's not the only one. Half of our best men are now gone, all because they proved themselves to be 'inneficient'. Greengap… I don't even know where the hell that is!"

Clawes made a mental note to look that place up, some day. But right now, he needed to change the subject.

"That is very interesting, sir, but now come. All other facts aside, what you need now is a good, warm cup of Mrs. Judson's tea and some delicious crumpets." He said in voice that said he would not have it any other way. Vole didn't bother to make any complaint.

Almost.

"Yes… unfortunately old Bassu will make me lose my appetite before I'll even touch the food. I can see it all now: we knock, Mrs. Judson opens, Basil jumps out of somewhere to great us, gives a half an hour lecture on the fact that we're half an hour late…"

"If I may, sir, I'm sure he'll understand. It's not like anybody knew that a snowstorm was coming."

"… and then we'll start talking about dead people. Marvelous way to begin the week, don't you agree lad?" with that, he proceeded by knocking on the door of 221B, fully prepared to face the odd routine.

Imagine his surprise when the one who opened the door for them was not Mrs. Judson, but a young little girl whom Clawes knew as Olivia Flaversham. The smile and joy on her face had faded the moment her eyes landed upon their figures.

"Mr. Basil?!" came the anxious voice of one Mrs. Judson from inside. Upon reaching the front door, she too became disappointed upon seeing the two officers.

"Something wrong, ma'am?" Clawes asked. Something was wrong.

"Oh, inspectors, do you happen to know where Mr. Basil or Dr. Dawson are right now?" she asked them hopefully. The inspectors looked one at another.

"Last I saw him he was leaving to get the doctor. You mean they didn't get back?"

Mrs. Judson was fiddling with her apron. "Well… Mr. Basil has a habit of randomly disappearing for indefinite periods of time, but the doctor simply wouldn't leave like that. Not in this weather, at least. I… think am slightly worried about them, sirs." Her anxiety told them a little bit more.

Vole found her worry laughable. "Bah! I seriously doubt it. As you pointed out yourself, they do have the habit of disappearing for indefinite periods of times. The doctor might have just forgotten to inform you of it."

Clawes frowned, but chose to say nothing.

"But inspector I… you see…" Mrs. Judson was babbling now, looking like a woman who was forced to make a real hard choice. She sighed. "Sirs, I cannot tell you my reason for believing this, but I fear that something has happened to them. I _know _that they wouldn't be gone for such long this time." There was such determination in her voice that nether men would dare contradict her.

"Mr. Bumbles is missing too." Olivia picked in, much to Vole's confusion. Mrs. Judson briefed him concerning yesterday's strange events.

"We waited for them to come back till it was well past midnight." Mrs. Judson had said. "We all though it was a bit odd for them to be this late, especially since Mr. Basil had left with Mr. Holmes' basset hound so it wouldn't have took them that long to get back here. But then we decided that it was time we all prepared for bed. Young Olivia is still but a child and needs her sleep, yet Mr. Flaversham and myself waited another hour or so before retiring for the night. But when we woke up this morning and found that they still weren't home and that it was a blizzard out, we were all worried. Mr. Flaversham left to look for them when the weather got better and… Oh, inspectors, I am worried for my tenants! What if something terrible happened to them? What if they were caught by that someone Basil and Inspector Clawes here were talking about yesterday?"

"Calm yourself, Mrs. Judson" cried Vole at the sight of tears. He never knew how to handle _those_. "Both your tenants are grown men and in good health. For what we could determine - _if _this is a serialkiller situation - then you have no reason to worry. Apparently the victims are all women, in their mid-twenties and have a link to bakeries and apart from the fact that Mr. Basil is living on _Baker_ Street…"

"And has green eyes as well." Clawes interfered.

"… _He_ is most certainly not a woman" Vole added quickly, giving Clawes a look that said 'and you're not helping'. "So you see, there is no reason to worry."

Mrs. Judson started sobbing uncontrollably. Apparently, their murder cases were going to have to wait.

A couple of minutes later, everyone was in the flat. Mrs. Judson – who after a large glass of brandy finally calmed down – was trying to prepare tea for the inspectors who were silently discussing the matter of her missing tenants in the living room. Olivia was with them, quietly seated on nearby chair and watching Vole's twisted mustache with innocent fascination.

"What do you make of this, Clawes?" Vole asked, deep in thoughts.

The younger mouse didn't respond immediately. "I don't like this one bit, inspector. Though slow, Basil was making real progress with this case and now he and the doctor simply vanished. I simply don't like it sir."

Vole quirked an eyebrow. "You believe there's a connection?"

"It would be odd for there not to be one." Just then, Mrs. Judson entered the room, tray of tea in hand. "Last I saw him; Basil said that there was something terribly wrong happening in this city. Given recent events, I am terribly inclined to believe him."

While Mrs. Judson was serving everyone with some of her tea, Vole asked her: "Mrs. Judson, I must ask you to think very carefully. Has Basil said or done anything that would give us any clue on where they would be heading?"

"Nothing… just that he was going to get the doctor. Then he bolted out of the house as he usually does whenever there's a 'game afoot' or however he calls it."

"Surely that is not all." Clawes said before Vole had the chance to say so himself. "You know him better than any of us. Think hardly, Mrs. Judson. And try and be as precise as you can be."

Frowning deeply, the landlady tried to remember what her tenant had told her the previous day. "He said… that he was to get the doctor and that he'll be back with him before nightfall… then complained about the boiler. Yes, she said something about it being too hot the previous night, because he couldn't sleep. Then he yelled at the bee…"

"The missing menace his brother sent?" Vole asked in a bored, yet slightly amused tone. He so wished he could have seen the Basil/bee interactions.

Both Mrs. Judson and Clawes gave him a look. Mrs. Judson continued. "Yes. He called the thing a menace to society, told it that it was not going to come with him and that it wouldn't have liked it ether way because there was a storm coming." Vole quickly wrote it all down in his little back notebook. He paused to read his notes. Everything looked trivial, but maybe it will make some more sense later.

"And that was the last you saw of him?"

"No. Once he was out, I went back in the kitchen and put some food and a first aid kit in a bag then hurried out to give it to him. The doctor could have been hurt or heavens know what, so I thought that it was best to be prepared. I know that the doctor would have his medical bag with him but still…"

"That was splendid thinking Mrs. Judson." Clawes said. "We all know how reckless those two can be – both together and individual – so don't try to justify yourself. I myself practically forced Basil to take that scarf with him…" Clawes got up from his seat and paced the room. "I remember he and Toby were going north… Can you remember that?"

Mrs. Judson thought for a bit. "Yes, I remember now. It seamed to me that they were heading towards Regent Park…" noticing the odd expressions on the inspector's faces, she rushed to add: "Oh, but it could be any other number of places. How silly of me to say that. They could just as well have been heading towards York –"

"Coincidence?" Clawes asked, ignoring Mrs. Judson's rant.

"Stopped believing in them a long time ago, lad." Was Vole's response, also ignoring the landlady. "But for all it's worth I fail to see the link. But we'll see about that one later, right now, we need to make a plan." He paused to think. "I could wire the Yard and call for back-up. The superintendent might kill me but somehow I don't really care about that at the moment…"

"I say we shouldn't be hasty." Interfered Clawes. "Under usual circumstances that would sound like the best sort of action, but you must agree that there is something fishy going on here. Plus, announcing to the world that Basil of Baker Street is missing is like giving the 'all clear' signal for every criminal in London. No, Vole. I say that the fewer know about this thing, the better." And with that, he continued his pacing, obviously deep in thought.

On the couch, Vole sighed. He hated it when Clawes was right. Such situations always gave him headaches. Digging into his pockets, he pulled out an envelope and from it, he took out one small tablet and swallowed it whole. The superintendent was a real jerk when he wanted to be, but at least the pills he gave him to help with the stress seemed to be doing their job.

Leaning back in his seat, he tried to clear his head by looking around the room. It was certainly as he always remembered it: books, scattered files, maps, darts hanging about in the weirdest of places, odd looking contraptions here and there, little girls that were staring at you…

The girl Clawes called Olivia Flabermoth (or was it Flawerbottom?) was looking at him… quite intently. He tried to ignore her for a bit, but it didn't really help. The look she was giving him made him feel quite uneasy. She kept staring… and staring… and staring… and Vole started to feel intimidated.

"What?" he asked, looking at the little girl straight in the eye. Her response came a little slow, but left him speechless all the same.

"You have a really large nose, sir, and a very odd mustache as well … sir."

Fortunately for Vole, Mrs. Judson (while hiding a chuckle) asked Olivia to go and fetch some more sugar for the tea. The little girl looked more then eager to be of help, and also didn't appear to notice that the sugar boll was half full. Again – fortunately for Vole.

An ordinary man's mind can only take so much pressure …

Once in the kitchen, Olivia took her time to look around the cabinets. She found some boxes of tea, flower, some coffee she mistook for cacao (much to the protest of her taste-buds) but no trace of sugar.

"Not in this one either." She said in defeat, putting another box filled with tea plants back on the shelf. "Now, if I was a box of sugar, where would I hide?" Imitating Basil in one of the detective's 'thinking moments' she tried to think things through. If it wasn't in any of the cabinets … perhaps the pantry?

"BUZZZ!!!" Fact: all thoughts of the sugar were instantly forgotten when Thinker burst threw the – thankfully, unlit – stove. Olivia needed a few moments to finally recognize the bee with all the ash that was covering it, especially when it was waving its hands around like it was fighting for its life.

"Mr. Bumbles!" she chirped happily, hugging the insect despite how dirty it was. "I was so worried for you! Where you with Basil all this time? Is he coming home soon?" Freeing itself out of the girl's tight grip, Thinker shocked the ash of itself than started gesticulating like wild. Olivia was left puzzled by its actions.

"What's wrong, Mr. Bumbles? Is there a fire?"

Thinker just stood there, hovering a few inches from the ground, in a state of pure shock. At least, it did before slapping itself across the face. After that lizard burst into its new master's room and found it to be empty, Thinker panicked, and in its panic it did what it thought was best: jump on the lizard then make for a quick get away … erm … that is, get some help.

Well, you couldn't expect it to go into battle with all those mice and rats and bats and lizards alone now … right?

But back to the point! Thinker needed to get help. Now, there was this girl, right in front of it, and apparently, she knew no sign language, which only meant … Oh, Thinker hated when she had to play charades.

"Oh! What? You're … a dog?" Brilliant … "Oh, chased! You were chased! No? Then, you ran!" … that's putting it one way … "From where? Big? A cat! No? A dog?" What was it with this girl and dogs?! "Humans? … House? … A human house? What about it?" Now for a Basil pose … "Basil? Basil is in a human house? Was Dr. Dawson there as well? Where is that? Are they in trouble? They are?! Tell me more, Mr. Bumbles!" … and what was that girl calling it 'Mr. Bumbles'? … No matter now. Now, the rat looked most recognizable … maybe the girl would know him. "RATIGAN?!" Apparently she did. "Basil is with Ratigan! Why didn't you say that in the first place?!" Thinker barely managed to shake its head in sight on exasperation when Olivia bolted from the kitchen, dragging the bee after her.

"Inspectors! Mrs. Judson!" she screamed, startling the adults. "Mr. Bumbles is back!" … well, that was not the right thing to say given the situation.

Mrs. Judson, now quite used to the insect that she along with all the adults that have come within three feet of it came to call a "menace to society" (to use Basil's choice of words), signaled the two inspectors that there was no reason to take the matter into consideration. Clawes looked a bit doubtful, but the doubt was short-lived for he instantly went back to pacing the room. Vole simply closed his eyes in hopes that it could stop his blasted migraine.

"Dear …" Mrs. Judson began, doing her best to be patient. "the inspectors are really busy at the moment. Now, I know you are glad you found that bee and …"

"I did not just find him!" Olivia interrupted, rather rudely. "He_ was_ gone but now he –"

"Olivia Flaversham!" Mrs. Judson's tone bore a discreet, yet clear warning. "As I said: the inspectors are very busy right now. So if you please, do make an effort and don't bother them right now."

The little girl sighted in defeat. Mrs. Judson was not going to listen to anything that was to involve the bee. Why, Olivia could not imagine. It's not like it wanted to break her favorite tea cups.

"This is not going to work, Mr. Bumbles …" she said, once they were back in the kitchen. "Mrs. Judson doesn't trust you … not like I do. She's not going to believe us, and without her, the inspectors won't believe us ether. The younger one looked interested, but still …" she sighted. "If only we could prove it somehow …" no sooner then when those words left her mouth the wheals of her brain began to stir. An idea had just occurred to her: a mad, foolish, risky, and terrible idea … for everyone except Olivia.

"I got it!" she cried out, startling Thinker who was sulking on the table. "We'll save Basil and Dr. Dawson ourselves! And then, they'll all know we've been telling the truth!" When she rushed out of the room, Thinker was certain that if it could, it would have been as white as a ghost by now. That was NOT what it had in mind!

For the next couple of minutes, Thinker did all it could to make Olivia reconsider her plan, but the girl just wasn't listening to it. After consulting one of Basil's maps, she just dressed in her warmest and kept stuffing all sort of things that she presumed would be useful in saving the detective and the doctor.

"You'll see, Mr. Bumbles!" she cried, picking up Basil's spare magnifying glass. "We will get to the bottom of this and then everything will be all-right! I've seen Basil do this before. I'm sure that with you on my side I can do it too. Now com, the game is afoot!"

Thinker needed to lie down for a bit … well, at least the red chair was vacant … might as well enjoy the comfort while Thinker still could actually feel – because very soon … the master was going to kill it. But first it needed to go with that child and see that she doesn't do hurt herself too soon.

"Going out for a bit, Mrs. Judson! We'll be back!"

As the front door closed, Inspector Vole dully opened his eyes and glanced around him. He thought he heard something. Looking at Clawes – who was still pacing – he decided that it was just his imagination and closed his eyes again. Slowly, he started to doze off.

Stress was definitely getting the better of him these days … and he always felt so tired …

KNOCK! KNOCK!

"Blasted all …" Vole growled. Complications! Now this was not helping his aching head! "It's all right, Mrs. Judson! I'll get it." If only to scare off the unfortunate creature that chose this exact moment to knock.

He swung the door open. "Yes, what the hell do –"

"Where is my sister?" A rough, deep, abet slightly impatient - though not unkindly so – voice interrupted Vole and his predictable question. The inspector's first reaction would have been – under normal circumstances – that of pure indignation at the tone, but upon laying one's eyes on the shape of said voice's owner, Vole was no longer sure what reaction would be _proper_.

A tall and imposing – despite how rooming he was around the waist – mouse, which bore such striking resemblance to one Sherringford Basil of Basil Street, stood straight and proud on the doormat of 221B. Neatly dressed and holding an air of an accomplished gentleman, the stranger looked at Vole with such a critical eye that the inspector felt small and uneasy under the larger mouse's gaze. It quite reminded Vole of Basil when they first met, and the inspector swore that if this mouse was not somehow related with the detective, then we was to eat his hat. But what was that about a sister? Or did he not hear that right?

"I beg your pardon?"

The other mouse sighted. "My sister did inform me that Scotland Yard Inspectors tend to be – at times, of course – rather slow in drawing the proper conclusion; but unfortunately, I do not posses her desire for giving out free lectures. That is why I shall take my time and ask again: where is my sister?"

This guy had to be related to Basil in some way … but what was he saying about a sister? Who lived in the house? Well, there was only Basil, Dr. Dawson and Mrs. Judson, and out of the tree … Well, maybe there was a chance he had to eat his hat after all.

"I am sorry, sir" Vole said evenly, "but I believe you have the wrong house. Apart from the elderly landlady there is no woman living here."

The other raised an eyebrow. "This is not 221B Baker Street?" he asked casually. Vole shrugged.

"Er, indeed it is, sir. But all the same …"

"Is the landlady of this establishment not one Mrs. Martha Judson?" he continued evenly, though was now apparently annoyed by the inspector's babbling.

"Why yes." Something clinched in Vole's head. It sounded absurd, even to him, but … "She wouldn't happen to be the sister you asked for, could she? Because, with all do respect, I fail to see any similarities …" Vole's voice faded when the stranger's patience was beginning to wear thin. This man scared him, though he had no idea why.

"I assure you, my good sir, that I hold no connection with any woman of that name. Now, I would appreciate it if you would point me towards the general direction where I may find a young lady of 23, with tanned fur and forest-green eyes …" Butterflies have suddenly decided to start a dance in Vole's stomach; he really didn't like where this was going "… and which has taken up residence and has established her practice at 221B Baker Street since 1895."

Vole didn't like it, he really didn't like it. Too many things that … No, it was not possible. It could not be! Basil was not … Basil was rude. Basil was loud. Basil was hyperactive. Basil was impossible … HE was not …

"Vole?" he needed not turn around to know that Clawes was now in the room, clearly drawn by all the 'commotion'. At least he knew that the younger officer would surely catch him were he to pass out …

"What in heaven's name if going on …" Yes … Mrs. Judson was the only one who was missing from all this. "Who are you, sir?" Oh, she must have spotted our guest.

Said guest only turned to her and said: "Mrs. Judson, I presume. I was just asking Chief-Inspector Vole here …" said inspector did not bother to ask how the duce did this stranger know who he was "… if you happen to know of my dear sister's whereabouts."

It did not escape the men's notice that the man had evaded the landlady's question altogether. Vole turned to look at Mrs. Judson and noticed that if there wasn't fur covering her she must have turned three shades of red. Apparently, this man had answered the question, yet not in a matter most were familiar with. "Your '_dear _sister's' whereabouts" she all but spat "have never mattered to you until now. Why the sudden change of heart, Mr. Myerricroft Basil?"

Vole gasped and turned to Clawes to see if what his ears heard was right or wrong. The expression displayed upon his young colleague's features indeed confirmed that his ears were – much to his dismay - catching the right sounds. But much to his confusion, he could not read surprise on the young man's face. No – there was shock, that was certain, but there was no surprise. Vole did not know exactly how one could go without the other, but there it was: an emotion whose name he could not place. Maybe … realization?

But Basil was such a common name! It could very well be any Basil! Or a sister! Yes, Basil _did _talk about a sister once. But then … didn't he say that she was dead? There was something wrong in this …

"I assure you, madam, that my heart remained the same." Said the man in a voice so cold Vole felt shivers go down his spine; yet those eyes of his, not quite as green and lively as the ones of the Basil he knew, bore such a great, dangerous fire within them that one would say that he was ready to leash out at anything and anyone, anytime. "But I cannot say the same about my patience. As honored as I am to know that you are aware of my name, I now request to see my sister as soon as possible. I must bring to her attention a matter of the greatest importance."

Mrs. Judson did not appear intimidated in the slightest. Instead, she simply smiled at the larger mouse. It was a devious smile, one that said that she wasn't going to go down without a fight. "Importance for whom, I ask. For you, for her, or for that blasted government you serve?" Her face darkened more and more with each word she spoke, yet the smile was still there, much to the annoyance of this Mr. Myerricroft. "No matter the answer to that, I will say that your luck has run out this time. As you can very well see, she is not here to solve your problems, just like you weren't there to solve her problems. And even if she were, then she still would have her own troubles to see to."

"Madam, I have no time for children's word games. If you please, the location of my sister would be most appreciated. Pray tell me now, or I shall leave."

"Then you do that." She growled out then, with confidence, she marched towards the front door, opened it, and waited. "Now, if you would please. You've made her life hard enough as it is now."

"Madam …" he started dangerously. The landlady didn't even let him finish.

"And be sure to not let the door hit you on the way out." And with that, she stopped all other protests.

The mouse frowned at her and gave a curt nod to the two police officers, muttering a "farewell, inspectors" before, without as much as a second glance at the landlady, turned to leave the flat.

He just reached the door when Vole felt Clawes move from his side. "Sir" Clawes had said, gaining man's attention, if only superficially so. "If I may, sir, what was this urgent matter you wished to discuss with …" he paused to lick his lips "… your sister?"

The man looked at Clawes from ears o tail, apparently trying to figure out if this person was worthy of his trust (or attention) in the matter. Much to Mrs. Judson's irritation, the man came back in, took of his hat, and took a seat on Basil's red armchair.

"I do hope you will remember, Mr. Basil …" Mrs. Judson warned "to be careful what to say. She worked too hard for you to ruin her with something as trivial as a slip of the tongue."

As if he didn't hear her, Myerricroft said: "The matter I wished to discuss with my sister, young Inspector Clawes …" Vole didn't really want to know how he knew who Clawes was ether! "… is a family matter, and by extension, a very personal matter. That is why I need your discretion in the matter – both yours and your superior's."

Everyone cast their eyes upon Vole. The inspector started to sweat.

"Erm … certainly …" he said, though he was not certain of what exactly he was agreeing on.

The man nodded, and all the others took seats around him. Mrs. Judson still did not look happy to have him in her house. "I must be sure you all understand this: what I am about to say, must never leave these walls. Do I make myself clear?" there was an unmentioned 'or else' in there as well, of that Vole was certain. But the man continued before he could give the matter much thought. "I do not doubt that some of you may be confused by my sudden appearance here. As one of you apparently knows …" Mrs. Judson grumbled. "I am a man of routine, thus I wouldn't be here unless it was a matter of utmost importance." Everyone chose to ignore the landlady's comment of 'I'm certain of _that_.' "It may interest you inspectors, that – if you were to hold our conversation a secret – I may hold information which may be useful in one of your current investigations."

"And which would be that?"

For a moment, Myerricroft appeared surprised at Vole's blunt question But that was before a wave of understanding seamed to was over him. "Why, the one with your dead murderers, of course. Cause of death: a fire, if I recall correctly. Am I not right inspector? And before you ask how I came to know about a top secret case of the yard, I will have you know that Internal Affairs have told me of it. Apparently, this case troubles them greatly. They are the ones who sent me to take care of this affair."

"Hump! You mean they sent you to have Sherry take care of this affair."

Myerricroft smiled, much to the inspectors' confusion. One smiles for being insulted? "My sister is actually referred to in that fashion?"

Mrs. Judson was on her feet in an instant. "Far better then that curse the poor creature has for a name. Who ever could live with a name such as 'Sherrignford'!" It too her a full moment to be fully aware of what she had said. Her first reaction was to look at the inspectors. Clawes … didn't look as bothered as she would have expected. As for Vole … she wondered if she could get away with murder with two inspectors in the house, for Vole … didn't look like he was actually there any more.

Until only a few seconds ago, he had hoped … indeed he had. Vole did hope beyond hope that he was wrong with his deductions. How much he always wished to be right in the past … now he wished he was not. He had to accept facts … for it appeared that _the _Basil of Baker Street, the one he knew and argues with over the cause of death of a murder victim, the one who always scolded him because he overlooked a stain of blood on a handkerchief … the one who would say "be a man, Vole" whenever the murder scene was less then pleasant … was …

"I assure you that I had no role in the choosing of names in my family. And if you ask me, her name is much more pleasant to the ear then my own." Myerricroft said. Mrs. Judson hump-ed. "But you were wrong in deducing my reason for being here. I have not come all the way to Baker Street to ask for a favor. I came to give a warning."

Everyone froze. 'Silent' was now the dominating word one would use to describe the flat, with nothing but the ticking of the clock on the mantle to disturb it, one tic per second.

"What do you mean, 'a warning'?" Mrs. Judson asked in a weak, scared voice. Her hands were shaking, her earlier fears coming back to her.

When Myerricroft spoke again, his voice was grave. "I mean to say that, given certain events, both from the present and the past, I have every reason to believe that my sister's life may be in danger."

"You mean to say …" Mrs. Judson gulped "that whoever is doing … whatever it is that they are doing in this city … is after Sherry?" Myerricroft nodded. "Oh, God!"

"'Oh, God!' indeed Mrs. Judson."

"Wait a minute!" Clawes all but shouted. "Sir, your …" he swallowed "…sister is not here. And we do not know where she is right now." Myerricroft's eyes widened. "Yes. That is why we need to know exactly what you know about this. Now is not a time for keeping family secrets. And we promise that you can rely on our confidence. Right Inspector? VOLE!"

"Oh! What … oh, yes. I promise not to speak a word." And to himself, he muttered: "Not like anyone would believe me, ether way."

Myerricroft appeared to consider this. He turned to Mrs. Judson, who looked uncertain of what to so. Eventually, she nodded, not all that confident, but at the moment, it looked like the lesser of two evils.

"So be it." He took a breath. "Now thirteen ears ago, tragedy bestowed upon our family while we still had a home in Sussex. My father and I were away because of some reason or another when a group of low-life refines attacked our house, taking everything of value. They set the entire premises on fire after they were done." He paused to draw breath. "That day, they have also taken the lives of my mother and – until I was proven wrong – younger sister. Their bodies were in a state beyond any recognition, but we knew it was them. There were little chances for it to be anyone else, after all. But, despite my grief, I noticed that there was no sign of my younger brother. Father was grieving too intensely to notice this, but I have, and I set in search of him. It was only later that I found not my brother, as I hopped, but my sister hiding behind a rock, in perfect body health. Her mind, on the other hand, was ruined. Apparently, she had seen everything: when the thieves entered, the robbery, the murder of her mother and brother. Simply put: everything. It's no surprise that at the fragile age of ten her little mind broke down."

Everyone had been listening very closely to Myerricroft's story. Mrs. Judson looked close to crying once again and the inspectors could hardly believe their ears. The elder Basil continued.

"After a few weeks, my sister began to speak again and to be more aware of the world around her. Still, she continued to poses little memories of what had happened before her brain shut down that day… which is why I am not at all proud with what I did."

Three pairs of eyes widened. "What do you mean?" asked Clawes. Myerricroft's face was grave.

"When I found her, my sister managed to tell me just one thing before her mind shut down. She said 'they killed them, both of them. They said there were the targets. When they saw me, they said I was none of their business. Said the lad was not part of the deal.' It took me quite some time to figure out what she tried to tell me. Or more exactly, to _accept _what she tried to tell me."

"It was not a simple robbery." Clawes said, voice filled with disbelief. "Someone planned the assassination of your family. The robbery was just for show."

"You are partially right. That was my first guess as well, but then my sister said that they saw her. Why let her go if they wanted to kill us all? Then I saw it. The targets were only my mother and sister. They had no qualms with my father and brother, nether did they with I. Taking into account all the facts, I decided that the best way to protect my sister was to make sure that she remained 'dead'. I convinced my sister to take up the name of her brother, making her believe it is her own, and molded her in such a fashion that she would think, act and all in all, be exactly like her brother."

"Wouldn't people notice the difference?" Clawes wanted to know.

"Not in the slightest. I have apparently forgotten to mention one vital detail: my brother and sister were in fact perfectly identical twins. If it were not for the change in clothes, nobody would have noticed any difference. They .." he chuckled "… had a little game in which they where to change roles: sister became brother and _vice-versa_. Plus, the time when my mother had to punish my brother for a broken vase and came face-to-face with two 'daughters' is one incident I shall never forget."

"One question, sir." Vole asked. "You say that now thirteen ears ago your mother was murdered and until you were proven wrong, you believed your sister was killed along with her. Now, I think I understand why you wanted to keep your sister's identity a secret but … what makes you think that – considering the fact that your sister is now known to all as 'Mr. Basil of Baker Street' – she is now in danger."

"I was planning to get to hat. You see, our family was a very peaceful one, and although my mother tended to be a little hard towards her children, she was a pleasant and even loving creature. Nobody had any reason to hate her. Also, we were not a wealthy family, nor did we have any rich relatives who could ever leave us anything. And, there were some very peculiar incidents happening in the area for a while now."

"Something that makes you believe that there was more to it then a simple quarrel between two people involved?" asked Clawes, incredulously.

"Exactly. Though at the time I thought very little of it, there was something very odd going on back then. Before my mother and sister's murder, a few girls from town started dying from various 'accidents'. There was no link between them, except for the fact that they all had green eyes. There was rumor that one of them was killed by the miller's son, but apparently the boy had died in a fire the very same night. And he was not the only one to perish in a fire that summer."

Clawes was on his feet in an instant. "I'm going to look for Basil!" he announced, and before anyone was able to beat an eyelid, he was out, leaving a sobbing Mrs. Judson and a stunned Chief Inspector Vole all alone with one eccentric member of the Basil family.

At a long last, Vole gathered enough wits as to say: "This has to be some kind of joke, is it not?"

Myerricroft did not look at him as he answered: "I would have liked it to be so, Inspector. But alas, it is not." That was what he was afraid of.

Vole knew that something bad had to happen. He just knew it! But he never would have guessed that it would be something this big …

He laughed. "Quite a way to begin the week … And to make everything all the more brilliant, I just found out that the best private detective in London – the one to whom the Yard owes much too much already … the one to whom _I _owe much too much already … - is a woman … and there is some sort of a 'mysterious' killer or some mastermind of some sort after hi- … her … Am I getting it right so far?" Myerricroft nodded. WONDERFUL! Count on this troublesome world to make matters even more complicated then they already where. Isn't it simply laughable?

Still, the most amusing fact remains the following: there was no other time when he when he wanted to eat his hat more then at that very second.

Moments later, a loud bark accompanied by Clawes' screams woke him from his moment of mental numbness. A Scottish mouse barged into the flat, panic clearly written on his old features. Clawes was with him, and apparently was holding someone. As Vole approached them, he noticed that there was someone else with, someone Clawes was trying to get onto the couch.

Dr. David Q. Dawson was back - cold, bruised and slightly dazed, but still alive … and pretty agitated for an old man. But when he heard exactly _what _the doctor was so wound up about, he was certain that retirement sounded like a very good idea.

That being said, his eyes promptly rolled up, and he fainted. There were little chances of him waking up anytime soon though … a fact that could not be said about a certain other rodent in London.

* * *

_That's it for another two weeks! And a cliffhanger at such a time! My God, I really am evil! But just to make it up to you, I made this chapter extra long! (and hopefully, with a little more clues then actually meets the eye ;) ). Myerricroft finally makes an appearance (and shreds a bit more light on the subject - or does he?), Vole is being tortured (I feel really bad for him ... really I do) and Thinker is sure to face Basil's wrath at some point. As for our dear Basil ... unfortunately we're not seeing her in this one, but of next chapter - only time will tell! _

_For more answers and questions, we shall meet again in the next chapter!_

_Reviews are always welcome and greatly appreciated!_


	10. Chapter nine

**_Whispers in the Dark_**

**Chapter nine  
**

Professor Patrick James Ratigan, criminal mastermind and arch enemy of one Basil of Baker Street, was slowly coming about ("slowly" being the key-word of the statement). He was able to detect movement around him and it sounded to him that someone was barking out orders. He found that quite odd since usually _he _was the one barking out orders. He wanted to know who that was, but he found that he couldn't quite put a face to the voice. If only he could actually understand what that person was saying… something about water?

Curse his aching head! He hated it when he didn't know what was going on around him. All he really knew was that he hurt, he couldn't hear properly and his eyelids wouldn't open. But at least his brain seemed to be functioning.

Very well, it was time to think. What exactly happened to get him into this current predicament? He remembered enjoying a nice bottle of wine in his chambers and plotting his revenge on Basil when someone broke something in the human rooms. Annoyed, he went out to look for said someone and planned to give him a fair piece of his mind (and probably something else along with it). Yes, he could remember that. Then, what? Oh right, he reached the rooms and started searching, heard someone calling a name… "Dawson" was it? He followed the voice then found the intruder… Who was it again? He remembered feeling shocked when he saw him… but who exactly was it? There couldn't be too many people on this fine earth that would shock him. So who was it?

"He seems to be coming about. What do we do?"

"Why are you asking me? I'm not a doctor!"

"Oh, for crying out loud, out of my way. You there! Lizard! Go and get me some bandages and clean cloths. Today if you would! Now, you lot …"

Hmm… that voice sounded very familiar. But back to his previous line of thought… ah yes! Basil. Yes, that was who it was; Basil. The one and only Basil of Baker Street was right there, just a couple of feet away from him. Oh! The situation was simply ideal! He could sneak behind the little rascal and slit his throat before the pipsqueak had any idea what was happening. But still, it was such a shame if he was to dispose of him just like that. Why not have a little fun with him first?

Yes, and he did have fun. Leading the mouse towards the basement was easy enough, though Ratigan was quite surprised with how things had developed from there on. But overall, the pipsqueak's offer was too tempting to pass out. And if anything was to go wrong, he could kill the little bastard at any time.

"Here it is. We give it to him now?"

"No, wait till I finish bandaging this one. I don't think he'll be cooperating much after he wakes up. Where is that hot water?"

Bandages? What was that about bandages? Hmm… maybe one of his idiot henchmen got hurt again. But then again, wasn't he hurting as well? Nah, couldn't be. After escorting Basil to his _living quarters_ – ones stationed as far away from his meeting rooms as possible (couldn't afford the brat messing up his plans _again_) – he went down to the party, had a few glasses with the boys, then went right back up to check on the detective. Ratigan knew that he was a curious little thing, so naturally Basil would get out of that room sooner or later (Fidget really wasn't much of a guard, after all) and when such a moment occurred, he would be ready to take full advantage of it. He just needed one mistake from the mouse, one single mistake, and their agreement would fall, and he would be free to kill the little vermin just like that.

He was a little disappointed when he heard steady breathing coming from his room. Well, at least it was fun scaring Fidget half to death for falling asleep on the job again. But he wasn't prepared to go just like that. He knew Basil, and he knew that the detective would come out, and he planned to be close by when that happened.

"Boss? Can you hear me? The detective said one of your cuts needs cleaning, you hear? Just stay calm, boss. It will hurt less."

It was only hours later, after everyone else was too drunk to do anything except sleep, that he was woken up by movement in Basil's room. He could have sworn that he also heard the door opening, but when he checked, the room was closed tight and there were whispers coming from Basil's room. He remembered classifying that as "odd", but what followed he could easily classify as "too much".

"He's not going to like this … You best hold on to him."

He remembered… yes, he remembered so clearly how that little bastard has sneaked into him room, how he found him, looking up at _her_ portrait, the one he had painted especially for his Terra… and that little son of bitch was so close to it! That was something he couldn't stand! He would not have someone like him judge that painting, he would not have someone like _him _judge _her_!

"Get ready."

What happened next, was a blur. Insults were thrown at each other, that he knew, but he couldn't recall what those were. All he knew was that he had felt murderous, that he wanted nothing more than to kill the detective on the spot. A voice was telling him to kill and he was actually listening to it! To hell with everything else, he wanted to murder the mouse!

Then suddenly… something stopped him.

The eyes he was looking into, those constantly calculating eyes that were Basil's, they looked so much like _hers. _Nobody could have eyes so green… green as the fresh, spring grass. For a moment, he though he was seeing his Terra in those eyes. For a moment, he was certain he was seeing _her_, that he was this close to killing her… But then reality came crashing down, and he knew that it was just another one of fate's cruel jokes. He knew that as he was looking at his claws and then at the fear in those wide, green eyes. That thing in his head was playing jokes on him. He knew it couldn't be her. Basil wasn't even a woman, for goodness sake! But still, for that one moment…

His hand was on fire!

"GUAAAAAAH!" Ratigan screamed as he bolted into a sitting position, much to the horror of his henchman who scattered in every possible direction. "That _hurt_!" he screamed in the face of the nearest person available.

"Well, if you would just stay still then it wouldn't hurt as much!" one must not bother and describe the shock he felt upon discovering who was actually tending to his wounds.

"Welcome back to the land of the living." The defiant voice shot back with sarcasm. Ratigan was speechless. There, right in front of him, cleaning cloth in hand, was Basil, and was apparently missing that well-known inverse coat.

"What's the matter, rat? Cat got your tong?" the detective asked, probably amused by Ratigan's expression. But who can blame him. It's not everyday that you wake up and fid your enemy working to save your rather than kill you.

Finally finding his voice, he practically yelled out: "What the hell are you doing?"

"I believed that was obvious. I am mocking you." She said simply. "Fidget, you can give him that glass of brandy now. He might be more docile once under the influence, for he certainly won't be cooperating much."

Ratigan was just about to say something when a large glass of brandy was shoved in his hand by the bat. Fidget and the rest of his men (who were peaking from behind random pieces of broken furniture) where looking at him worriedly. Basil, on the other hand, seamed to be watching him like one would some delicate experiment, one that was about to blow up.

The large rodent gowned and looked just about ready to throw a nice, bitter curse at a certain someone (and maybe the glass itself the detective's general direction), but instead of doing so he just emptied its contents in one short gulp.

"There" said Basil, taking the glass away from the rat as the other coughed, a side effect of the liquid's bitterness. "You didn't die from that, now did you?"

He wasn't that lucky …

"Fancy another one? I don't quite like those tremors of yours."

"Fancy a hole in the head? I don't quite like that face of yours." Ratigan shot back, mimicking the detective's tone. "One drink of anything can hardly matter but two? You must be more of a nitwit then I already thought if you think I'll give into your game. I know your game Basil, and I'm not falling for it!" The other mouse hardly beat an eyelash.

"T'is your lost, professor." Was her response before moving away from the larger rodent, along with both the glass and the bottle of brandy.

"My only loss is a chance to get drugged! I know better then to ever trust an enemy!" Ratigan cried out after Basil; though he had to admit that the drink did make him feel better – maybe a little lightheaded, maybe a little slower with his thinking, but better. And it would have been better still if he wasn't so terribly cold.

"Boss, what 'csactly happened?" Fidget asked nervously. Ratigan gave him a look. "I mean, we all found ya' and tha' detective near the house. Tha' detective said you were up against a gang of dangerous lookin' r- … big guys, and then next he knew, you were like this. We didn' know what to do and we though you was gonna die but then he said that …" Fidget's rant died out even faster then it began, for the look on his boss's face was worse then frightening, it was murderous.

"_I_ will say three things Fidget …" Ratigan said, his voice dangerously low. "One: those brats may look dangerous to a weak little detective, but they represent no threat to me. Even if one of them was more of a challenge then I would have expected." At that, he pointed at the gash in his left arm. "Two: what Basil says, is none of your concern. And last, but not least, three: if you don't shut it this instant I will skin you alive!"

Fidget was gone in an instant. _And they say I don't have a way with people._

It was only then that Ratigan had noticed that he was in his room, seated on a makeshift bed near the fire. Most of his wounds have been treated and cuts have been seen to. He went over his memories once more and found no reason for him to actually be here, near a warm fire and with his wounds being treated. In fact, he was certain that when he lost consciousness he was anywhere near the villa … except if maybe…

Unconsciously, he turned to look at Basil. The other mouse was apparently disinfecting a needle, effectively ignoring Ratigan's yells. He knew that something was wrong with this picture. Hastily, he searched threw his memories for some clues as to _why _the detective was actually there. What those clues seamed to point to …

God, he couldn't believe it! It wasn't possible! He just couldn't believe that Basil _saved his miserable life!_

"Hello!" Basil's clear, although annoyed, voice shook him out of his memories. "Did you not hear me, Ratigan?"

Confused, he asked: "What?"

The other rolled her eyes. "I said: hand over that paw!" Basil said with determination, though Ratigan could detect a slight tremor in the mouse's voice. He chose to ignore that small fact for the moment.

"You're nuts!" He spat, cradling his injured hand with his other one. "I'm not giving you my _hand_, so keep _your_ paws down." Ratigan growled, nudging away from the detective's outstretched hand. He may be hurt and the drink had made him drowsy, but he most certainly wasn't stupid enough to do what an enemy asked him to.

"And you're hurt. So unless you want that thing to get infected you'll hand it over so I can clean it up." At that, the detective pointed at the washcloth in her hand and with the corner of his eye Ratigan also spotted a basin filled with hot water. Apparently, Basil wasn't joking in the slightest. Still, neither was he.

"I have no need of your assistance, _detective_. I am perfectly fine. Now if you please, I want you to do me the honor of getting out of my face!" he growled back. Basil was not intimidated by his actions in the slightest.

"Let me see if I get this straight…" she said, lifting an eyebrow and crossing her hands much like a governess did whenever a pupil would give pathetic reasons for not handing in their homework. "You mean to say that although you have a gash in your left arm the size of dear old Big Ben, were delirious till only now a few moments ago and show signs of infection, you say you are perfectly fine and that you need no assistance?" she asked sarcastically. Ratigan did not answer. "What the hell's the matter with you? Are you some kind of a masochist?"

"If I say that I am, will you kindly be _gone_?" He screamed in Basil's face. The detective though did not move a muscle as she said a very clear "no" then, taking full advantage of Ratigan's moment of shock, took hold of his hand.

"Now hold still." Basil said as a warning. "This _will _hurt." And with that, she proceeded with the cleaning of the rat's wound. Ratigan, conscious that he had just lost another battle with the detective, could do nothing else then pout as he felt the stinging. How the devil could that mouse _always _win?

"Oh yes… That blasted German is right in more ways then one." He snorted. If Basil heard him, then the detective chose not to make any remarks. "God _is _most certainly dead. Otherwise why would he let the devil torture me so?" He muttered to himself. Why couldn't he just _die_?

… and how the devil could some hot water hurt SO MUCH!

"I told you to stop moving!" the detective said in irritation. Ratigan wasn't too keen with the situation ether.

"I'll have you know that this _hurts_!" he yelled out, causing the men who just started to emerge from their hiding place to duck down again.

Basil was not impressed. "I told you it would. Now quit complaining. I assure you I take no pleasure in putting you back together again like that egg from Mother Goose's nursery rimes." She paused. "In fact, I take that back. Any egg would be much more cooperative then a common sewer rat, such as yourself."

Ratigan saw red. "I am not – GUAAAAAHHH!"

"'Cooperating' I think was the world you were looking for, and indeed, you are not doing so. Now for the last time, quit being such a big baby – it most certainly doesn't become you."

Now that was low. "You're really taking pleasure in thi- GAH! Enough already!"

"Oh, I'm sorry." Basil said sweetly – _the little devil._ "Did that sting?" Ratigan exploded.

"You know perfectly well that it did, you little psychopath! God, why am I even letting you do this! I should be strangling you right now! Or at least have my men lock you up! Why didn't you lock him up?" he yelled out to his men. The look on their face said it all: they never thought about it. He turned back to the detective. "I should have left those hooligans finish you off and be done with you. A mouse so weak that needs saving from a few street urchins doesn't _deserve _to still be alive." Basil frowned. If the rat asked for war, then its war he'll get.

"Well, what would I say about you? You're at least double my size yet you didn't do any better. Or must I remind you that you _were _passed out for most of the morning?"

Ratigan was grinding his teeth. Why wasn't he strangling the little vermin yet? "I'll have you know that it was not _they _that caused me to 'pass out' as you put it … as it seems to be the case with you. And yes, you are not the only one who can deduce certain things just by looking at someone. You hide things well, detective, but not _that _well. The traces of low brain activity are still visible on you." He was certain that with that remark, he was to at least shut up the mouse. He was to be disappointed.

"You mean to say how it's always visible on you?" that said in a clear, indifferent voice … one raised eyebrow … hands crossed … Did he have a reason why he wasn't beating the living daylights out of that mouse?

"Funny thing coming from someone who _deliberately _disobeyed their captor's orders and started roaming around their private rooms!"

"Funny thing coming from someone who yelled at their prisoner to 'get out'." Ratigan opened his mouth, prepared for another come-back … only to discover that he hadn't any. "Now will you please just lie down and let me work?"

Oddly enough, Ratigan chose to do as his nemesis asked. It was quite ironic, how the captor ended up listening to the captive, but he was too tired to come to a reason as to _why _it was happening. What he knew for a fact was that the world was now – officially – upside down and that he wanted nothing more than to fall asleep and hope that this was all some bizarre dream … and once he woke up everything would be all right again … and those eyes were going to spot hunting him so …

"There!" the mouse said at last, picking up the basin of now red water. "Keep that cloth there while I go get the stitches."

_Wonderful … further humiliation … _with clouded eyes, Ratigan followed Basil as the mouse limped over to a nearby table. He could hear the detective's voice. She was probably talking to him, but he couldn't quite make up the words. In lack of any other activity, the rat vaguely wondered where the mouse got hurt, but given recent events… Why had it suddenly gone so dark?

"Ratigan!" he must be worse then he imagined if he didn't notice Basil was back again… "My god, man! You're quivering all over!" a paw was clasped to his forehead and it took a full moment for Ratigan to understand just what was going on. "You're going into shock! Fidget! Go get some more hot water! You there! The little bat. Yes you. Go and find as many water bottles as you can. Lizzard! Or, Bill, whoever you are. Get me some more blankets! Now! And you two help me get him up. He needs to move. Not so roughly, you fools!"

Shock? Well, that would explain a couple of things. He was, after all, lying unconscious (hard to admit, but true) in the snow for at least a few good minutes. Now that can hardly be good for you. But even so, Ratigan was still lucid enough to notice that his men seamed to be listening to the detective – if one would be judging from the sound of hurried footsteps. That both intrigued and worried him greatly, for if those ninnies actually listened to any mouse with some level of authority …

But then again, Basil was always something special. And apparently full of surprises as well.

Making sure that he was still tightly wrapped in the blankets Bill just fetch, Basil gave the tugs her signal and they all slipped an arm beneath his shoulders and carefully hoisted him to his feet. Not an easy task, mind you. Ratigan's head lolled drunkenly for a moment before he endeavored to raise it at Basil's urging, blinking owlishly at her from under heavy lids. The detective spoke to him constantly, encouraging him to take a step, and then another, until he was walking with the help of Basil and his two tugs up and down the room. His steps were faltering, and he frequently stumbled, but the others forced him on.

"You're doing well." Basil said reassuringly before promptly yelling over her shoulder "Someone put more wood on the fire!"

"It's hot enough …" Ratigan started to say, but Basil gave him no time to finish.

"And you're suffering from hypothermia." She said, matter-of-fact, her leg almost giving up on her as she did. "We need to get you warm again. Now keep moving and don't you dare fall asleep. We need to get your blood circulating again or you might lose a limb of two. Or heaven forbid, your heart could stop beating altogether!"

Ratigan couldn't stop the chuckle that passed his lips. "That's not going to happen. And besides, as far as I know, you wanted to see me dead for the longest of time."

"Merely in prison, but never dead. It's true that I find you the worse of the worse of all of London, but I'm not one to wish someone's death. I'm not like _you_, Ratigan." She said, eyes narrowing.

"So you're merely proving me wrong?" he searched her face for something, but whatever he was looking for, it wasn't there.

"No. I am merely bringing you back to life. Nobody dies on my watch. Not if I can help it. And start moving that overly large tail of your! You need to get the blood moving there too."

"What are you, some kind of a doctor now?"

It was Basil's turn to chuckle. "Living with one for the past several months seams to do that to you. Now, what's the square root of 123,670?"

They carried on like this for quite some while until finally, Ratigan's body shivers lessened. His amazement, on the other hand, did quite the opposite.

He knew fully well that Basil was a very surprising individual, but he never got to know just how surprising. Up until now he had believed that the little vermin was just one blasted creature that simply had the wits to foil his plans, that did it all for pleasure. But now he wondered: was he right in thinking that? This mouse here – who was now slowly seating him down on the cushions, bundled the blankets around him and tucked some bottled filled with hot water at his feet (his men were apparently rather good in doing what they were told, when you knew what to tell them) – was doing one's absolute best to keep him alive (a wasted effort, he thought, but Basil apparently wouldn't hear of it). That in itself was a mystery. Where did all this caring come from? The detective did not strike him as a particularly caring mouse. And even if he _was _blind all these years, why would Basil do so much for him?

"Ratigan?" Out of habit, he looked up, yet again surprised to find Basil there, holding up a large cup of … something for him. Almost like the mouse was able to read his mind, basil simply said: "It's just tea. I added a bit of brandy in it. Not too much, though. Alcohol may be good for you now, but we don't want you drunk quite yet." Eying the detective with a suspicious look, Ratigan slowly took hold of the cup, amazing himself with the fact that his hands were not shaking any more. Now, he knew that the tremors would go away eventually; they always did, but still …

"T'esctive? Will tha' boss be ok?" he heard Fidget ask, much to his utter mortification! Did his men actually forget just _who _that mouse was?

"He'll be fine, though I am not all that happy with the fact that I am the one who says it. Don't you people have a doctor in your little band of outlaws?"

There was a pause. "What's an outlaw?"

"Never mind. Ratigan? RATIGAN! Wake up!" The sudden pressure on one of the cuts that now covered his body woke him instantly. He hissed in pain.

"Why did you do that for, now?"

"You cannot sleep yet, you fool! It was monumentally foolish of you to fall asleep in the first place, and it's a miracle you actually woke up in the first place! Or do you _want _for your heart to stop its beating?"

"It honestly wouldn't be such a bad thing." The statement was said in such a simple, aloof tone that one would find it hard to believe that it was coming from someone who had been a step away from death. Though it was mostly meant to be a joke, not all were in a joking mood that day for the look on Basil's face upon hearing those words could have been described as one of absolute anger; fact confirmed when the detective effectively slapped him. "OUCH! For the love of God, you fool, why did you do that?"

Basil's tone when she spoke again was (irony of it all) colder then ever before. "I had hopped that I'll manage to revive a few brain cells; for it's clear that the little thing called 'reason' had somehow left you." A sight followed, and something that seamed to resemble a surpassed cough. Ratigan looked away, unhappy with how things were progressing.

Again, there was movement around him, but unlike earlier, this time he was fully aware of it. Basil seamed to make sure of that. Or better said: Basil's palm seamed to make sure of that. Why couldn't the little devil punch him? Oh, right, punches hurt, but they didn't really have much of an effect. Slaps _smart _and its effect on the body lasts considerably longer.

_Very smart, Basil, very smart indeed you manipulative little …_

"I'll have you know that you've lost a lot of blood this morning" Basil said, matter-of-fact, "so unless my memory serves me wrong, you'll be feeling weak and lightheaded for a couple of days" _Oh joy … _"Also, unless you want to die of ether infection or possibly blood lost, I'll have to stitch your wound here..." The detective had said a few more things, but Ratigan didn't listen any more. Tired, frustrated, and angry with everyone and everything, he moved to look at something – at anything – just as long as it distracted it. Eventually, his eyes fell on the portrait above the fireplace, and remembered a situation much like this one …

"_My lord, if you don't warm up I fear grave things shall befall upon you." a girl had asked a gentlemen once. Baking powder was stuck in her fur, and her clothes were poor … a baker from the looks of things._

_The gentlemen, considerably larger then said girl in most aspects and even better dressed then her had said from his place in the snow. "Do not trouble yourself with the state of my heath, my dear lady. I assure you that it is nothing." He said those words fully aware of the slight tremors that were plaguing his body, but was determined to hide that fact. For pride an honor, he could not accept any assistance from the baker lady, no matter how he craved for a fire._

_The girl chucked at his words. She was not fooled for a moment. "Beg do differ, my lord, but even if I am merely a baker's grand-daughter and not a scholar such as yourself, I do know that such cold hands are not natural for anyone."_

"_How did the young lady know I was a scholar?"_

"_I just have a gift for noticing things, my lord. Now come or I shall have to drag you in myself and spoon-feed you some warm broth so you can finally warm up."_

He laughed at the memory. Yes, he would always laugh at the memory. In fact, any memory with her made him laugh. She had always made him laugh, from the very start. Yes, how could he forget that cold winter's night when he had first met her? How could he forget –

"Terra" he whispered before he actually knew that he did so. That's what one gets for daydreaming. But maybe he was lucky and Basil didn't her …

"Mind saying that again Ratigan?" Of course he wouldn't be that lucky!

"That's none of your concern detective!" he shot back angrily, but Basil was a stubborn one … much like she was.

"You said 'Terra', did you not?" Basil was already suspicious, meaning that if Ratigan knew the detective well enough, then he most certainly knew that this was not the end of it. Ratigan did not answer. "Are you referring to the lady in the picture?"

How did? … Oh, of course … he was _looking _at the bloody thing!

"Mind your own business, detective." He growled. Basil smiled.

"Whatever you say, Ratigan." Was all she said before going back to work.

… _That was it? _Ratigan wasn't buying it. "I mean it, you know."

"Very well, then."

"No, I mean it. I have no obligation to tell you anything concerning my personal affairs, so don't even try."

"Oh, so this is personal now? Very interesting indeed."

"I MEAN IT, BASIL!" he bellowed with such force that – some would say – the walls shock. "This is a private matter, detective, so now quite it with- …" despite his harsh tone, despite his harsh words, Basil continued to smile, eyes fixed on her task.

Ratigan slumbered against the cushions, a look of disbelief written on his face. Almost instantly, it had occurred to him that _Basil knew_. Not the whole story, mind you, but he was certain that she knew the essence. The detective now knew of Terra, knew that once there was a woman in his life, and all that because he, Ratigan, failed to keep his big mouth shut.

Defeated, he looked back up at the portrait. Terra also seamed to know a great many things about him without anyone telling her of them. In fact, now that he thought of it, Terra and Basil were terribly similar with one another.

He frowned at his own thoughts. There was something about that last one that bothered him. Looking back at the detective, he took in the mouse's whole appearance and then looked back at the portrait. Suspiciously enough, there seamed to be certain similarities … but that was purely coincidental. Terra died long ago, and even if by some miracle she happened to have any family left, then it was certain that none would have _those _eyes.

Ah yes, the eyes … Terra's eyes had been the most beautiful thing he had ever seen on this earth, and after so many years those green eyes were still fascinating him. And to see them again after so long was nothing short of incredulous! How could a pair of eyes such as hers belong to someone like Basil? He didn't know, but he did manage to see why it was so hard for him to simply cut off the detective's throat as he should. It was because of those eyes … Yes, he knew it was foolish, he knew it was idiotic of him actually, but it just was. And God, how he hated himself for it!

Best not to think anymore … He also mustn't look at the portrait any more. Change the scenery! Almost on a whim, he averted his gaze towards the trembling hands that were slowly beginning to mend the cut on his right arm. Never has he noticed before how graceful those hands were. Almost too graceful … Certainly those could not be hands of a man, and a detective at that. They looked more like the pair a lady would take pride in, or a artist at its worse … _Terra was both … _

And that thought worried him. As he continued to take in every single detail of the detective's appearance, Ratigan had the impression that this must have been the first time he actually _looked _at Basil. Why else would he not notice how impossibly skinny and in the same time, incredibly well-builtthe mouse's body was, or how unnaturally soft that fur looked, or even how all the curved looked ever so feminine. It was almost impossible to notice while on a run or when distracted by the world in its whole, but now, in a moment of repose, he could notice. Everything about the detective was so carefully _there_, so delicate… so fragile… much like…

NO! BAD brain! Bad! Basil was NOT Terra! Use logic man! The time gap is too great! And he was not one to believe in reincarnation! Gods, he had to stop thinking about this! The situation was just too much for him. First were the eyes… why hasn't he noticed those eyes before? Why did he let that simple fact distract him so? In fact, why did he not kill the detective when he had the chance? Why didn't he just let that bungle of misery run off? Why did he bother to save that… Why? Why? Why? WHY?

"Why?"

Basil looked up from her work to study the rat's features. His face was a perfect mask of indifference, though his eyes suggested exhaustion and maybe a mixture of wonder and confusion. From that alone, she failed to understand what he was asking. "'Why' what?"

_Why do you remind me so much of her? _"Why are you doing this?"

Basil was momentarily taken aback. "I beg your pardon?"

Ratigan growled. "Are you now deaf as well as simple-minded? Why did you go through all the trouble of dragging me back here, knowing that by doing so, you'll be my prisoner again? You know I'm not one who would go soft and all of the sudden start and appreciate your assistance, nor am I that dumb as to let you go with your honor intact because you just happened to take pity on me. And why are you even tending to my wounds? You could have just left me there for those spiders to have their fun with and nobody was going to blame you for it. After all, I am the worse of the worse – it's not like anyone would miss me and you certainly don't give a dam … so why? Why not let me die? Tell me why, because I for all the brains with which I was blessed cannot begin to outline one measly idea as to WHY!"

By the end of his rant, Ratigan was patting. He had asked Terra a similar question that night she stumbled upon him, half frozen as he was yet too proud to accept any aid … HE HAD TO STOP THINKING OF HER!

He filled himself the now empty teacup with brandy and gulped it down. Busy trying to keep the liquid down, he almost didn't hear when the detective, in a voice so soft that Ratigan was certain it could not belong to the same mouse.

"I already said that nobody was going to die on my watch… And now I'm sure you'll be asking me 'why?' again, right? … Well … It's because…" the detective paused to clear her troth. Ratigan was now very curious. "Well, I guess that even the great Napoleon of Crime is a living creature -a foul, degenerate on at that, but still … I once promised…" the words did not appear to be coming easy for Basil and Ratigan was surprised they were coming out at all. "I promised that if I can, I will do my best to save any life that I can."

Truth be told, he did not expect an answer, especially not one that sounded so sincere. He may have expected silence, or some slide remark, but not this.

"Is that why you became a detective, detective?" he laughed at his own joke, pouring some more brandy in the cup. "Or was it more because of the intellectual satisfaction? To figure out if a person threw themselves or was thrown by someone out a window: quite a provoking case, is it not?"

"You best lay low on that brandy for the rest of the evening" was her answer, taking the cup away just as Ratigan was getting ready to fill it again. "And personally, I'm not too conformable with that particular example. Killing a person is such a fashion is just cruel."

Ratigan chuckled. "Funny thing coming from someone who threw me off of Big Ben once."

"You lived." Basil pointed out sharply. "And plus, it is not I who threw you off. Or must I remind you that you were the one that was charging at me?" Ratigan only started laughing harder.

"My dear detective, that is completely beside the point!" he paused to take a breath. "Fact is – you got out of that scarcely wounded while I was swimming with the fishes."

"Scarcely?" she yelled at the top of her lungs, whish proved not to be a good idea. She started coughing, but fortunately, it didn't last long. Between large breaths of air, she managed to say quite clearly: "I could hardly move for days, and you call that scarcely? You almost killed me, Ratigan!"

"And now you're treating your almost killer." Ratigan pointed up in sick amusement. "Who's the masochist now, hmm? Or is it that I detect some guilt in the middle?"

"If there's anyone who should feel guilty, it's you."

"Me?" Ratigan asked in mock-surprise. "Little ol' me? Guilty? My dear sweet detective, now I know you are jesting! After having so much blood on my hands you actually believe I can actually_ feel_ like that? Killing is second nature to me, my good man. Had it not been so, then the woman you see in that painting up there might still be here."

A look of realization crossed basil's features at that moment. "You couldn't have …"

"Killed her? Well, ho to say it … have you ever killed someone dear to you?" he wiggled the now almost empty bottle of brandy in the detective's face. Annoyed once again with the larger rodent, Basil snatched the bottle out Ratigan's hand.

"You're drunk." Ratigan laughed again. "I told you to keep low on the liquid. Now look what you've done to yourself."

"Come now, detective … just one, itchy-bitsy murder? Very well, maybe not in the most common meaning of the word, but how about angering a bully and having him hurt someone else because they couldn't reach you? Shooting someone in self defense? Someone who got hut trying to keep you safe from something? Losing someone because you simply existed? Come detective, which one is it? There had to be one, is it not?"

Basil said nothing. She just looked at Ratigan's smiling face for a good half a minute before quickly completing the sticking, fully ignoring Ratigan's yelps and insults. He was just about to shoot a very nasty one when Basil cut the thread and got to her feet. She looked at Ratigan in the eye as she said "You know what, rat? I don't even know why I bothered" before promptly turning on her heels and exiting the room.

From his spot near the fire, he heard her yell out to him: "I feel sorry for you Professor, really I do. You have a great mind, but you fail to use it for things that that would actually count."

And with that, Basil stormed out of the room, much to the shock of everyone present. Well, maybe except Ratigan, for he was too busy noticing a few more oddities. So the detective did lose someone dear to him after all … that much he could deduce. But who? And why did he have the feeling that this newfound fact about his number one nemesis was an important one?

His thoughts drifted back to the events which took place only a few hours prior, and came to a decision.

"Fidget, I have a job for you." Ratigan said simply, all traces of drunken humor now gone from his features. "I want you to go into town and see what you can pick up concerning the newest preoccupations of the people down at the Yard. Listen closely to any roomers that have anything to do with murder, fires or a hoard of spiders-"

"Spiders, boss?"

"Yes, spiders – particularly the ones with big red eyes. You follow me? Good. Now, while you're gone, have your cousin guard the detective. Tell him keep watch on that trouble maker twenty-four-sever and to report back to me once every hour. I don't want a repetition of this morning's events. Got all that? Then I'm pleased. Now get a move on!"

There had been too many coincidences for his liking. Too many indeed … and he didn't like it one bit. Especially since those spiders have confirmed that someone he once knew was back in town. Still, while lifting his gaze back on the picture above the fireplace, he couldn't stop wondering why _he _appeared to be interested in one Basil of Baker Street.

* * *

_Dear me! Ratigan appears to suspect something, but of course, he has to be in denial about it. But now even so, things are bound to be get a lot more interesting. Just what was so important about those spiders? And why does Ratigan appear to be suicidal? And who did Basil promise such a thing?_

_For answers to these questions and more, we'll see each other again in the next chapter!  
_

_P.S. Now, some may say that this fic is going a bit fast, but I feel that it's going a little slow, which is why I once again feel sorry to leave you guys hanging, but school needs my attention in the imediate future, so updates may come a little slower after this one. I'll do my best to have the next chapter up in another two weeks, but afterward, my exams will become a priority, so a small hiatus will have to take place. In the meantime however, enjoy the chapter and check out the illustrations on my deviantART account!_

_Reviews are welcome and deeply appreciated!  
_


	11. Chapter ten

**_Whispers in the Dark_**

**Chapter ten**

Regardless of what anyone says, the bumblebee is by no means inferior to the greatly-treasured honeybee. Of course, it's a well-known fact that the latter's ability to make the most delicious honey in existence may give it a small plus on the invisible scale of the animal kingdom, but even so, that does not mean that the bumblebee, regardless of its tendency to get itself into trouble and make a mess out of things, doesn't have its own 'plusses'.

But for some reason, nobody seems to notice these things.

"Come on, Mr. Bumbles! We can't keep them waiting too long!"

For starters, one may notice how dreadfully territorial they can be. Trespass on their land and they would be just as dangerous as a full-grown raccoon. Most would simply jump to the conclusion that they were 'born that way', which in all honestly wouldn't be a false statement, but it was not necessarily the fact that they were territorial that made them so, but because they were loyal.

"To the park? Are you sure?"

Yes, though unknown by most, bumblebees are very loyal creatures. For their queen and clan they would do absolutely anything, even give their life if the need would arise. 'Protect your family and protect your queen, avenge thy brother's death or may death conquer you' was their saying. But still, one would be wrong to think that they would be loyal _only _to their own kin.

In short: you can think of bumblebees as the 'dogs' of the insect world … or occasionally the mouse one.

"Well, can't say it's quite what I was expecting, but I guess it's better than an old, dark, damp sewer pipe. One time was good enough for me."

Letting out a puff of hot air, Thinker looked around. Snow was covering most of what lay around them, including trees and bushes that still had a few brown leafs stuck to their branches; and what it didn't then ice did. How the little mouse the bee was now hovering over managed to talk it into going on with this plan was beyond its comprehension. Bees simply dreaded cold, but then if this was 'better' (and Thinker would wager her wings that somehow the kid wasn't exaggerating) then Thinker could do nothing more then nod in agreement.

"Well Mr. Bumbles" said Olivia, folding the map she had inspected only moments earlier "we best get going now. Basil and Dr. Dawson are most certainly waiting for us."

That Thinker doubted with all its heart.

The little girl - whose name Thinker believed was 'Olivia' - apparently had some sort of rescue plan all set to save the two older mice (well, the girl wasn't listening so when could it tell her that the doctor was already saved?). It was a simple enough one: sneak into the 'cellars', spring them out and be back home in time for tea… A _very _simple plan...

But it was also a stupid plan - and childish, very childish in fact… but "stupid" was still the best word to describe it. "Suicidal" would be another, but that would be a little too pessimistic.

As it listened to the little girl chatter on about one thing or another, Thinker could not stop remembering what Fat Mouse said when he found Thinker contemplating on a flower now a few days ago. He said that he knew the perfect new 'queen' for Thinker - a lady who would be acting so much like a man that most would talk to her as such. All Thinker had to do was to take care of her.

Well, it sounded as a good enough deal at the time – at least it would have a home to spend the winter - but Thinker had no idea what it was getting itself into.

The beginning of it all was… eventful, and one cannot say that they had started on the right foot. Said lady whom everyone was calling Basil didn't seem to like Thinker in the slightest, but Thinker had a job to do and was determined to do it. But since the bumblebee luck is worldly famous for being nonexistent, nothing worth mentioning came out of that… Ok, maybe a near heart-attack on Basil's part and other life-threatening complications, but other than that …

The wind picked up then and neither Thinker nor young Olivia were able to surpass a shiver. Winter had come too fast, and nobody was prepared for it, least of all a small child and a little bee. But Olivia was doing a very fine job trying to convince Thinker otherwise.

"This weather is horrible, Mr. Bumbles, and it seems to be getting colder and colder… but don't threat. I've come prepared!" Olivia cried out as she pulled out something from one of her ridiculously big coat pockets. It was a piece of… was that wool? Well, to Thinker, it looked like it, or at least it looked warm. "Here, you put this on, Mr. Bumbles. It will keep you warm." And with that, she practically smothered poor Thinker with it. The intention was well off… the method on the other hand, was brutal. And now Thinker looked like some miniature poodle!

Well … at least it could still fly. And Thinker had to admit that it did feel warmer.

"There, wouldn't want my partner to catch a cold now, could we?" Olivia said while blowing steam into her freezing paws. "It's been awfully cold last night and I doubt that big old rat would have made Basil and Dr. Dawson too comfortable … " for a moment, the little girl's eyes darkened, as if some unpleasant memory had suddenly emerged in that head of hers, but it was only for a moment. "Now, let's go save them!" and with that, the little girl was off… in the wrong direction.

Thinker shook its head. How could someone be so naïve? Well, at least nothing bad could happen while they were still in the park, right?

"Oh, dear me, kind sir! You are simply too much for me!" Thinker frowned. That was not Olivia. Curious, she looked around and eventually its eyes found two figures walking hand in hand down a narrow path. Apparently, said figures were mice, a boy and a girl from what Thinker could see. The girl looked nice… but he didn't quite like the boy. To the eye, he did not look unordinary, but Thinker had a feeling. There was something there, something Thinker felt on that squirrel's visit from yesterday that made all its instincts scream for caution.

Thinker looked down towards where Olivia had vanished before hiding underneath the frozen leafs of a nearby bush and waited.

"Why do you say so, my dear?" the man asked the girl in a teasing tone. "You know very well that my heart belongs to you, so naturally I would like if you would do me the honor of trusting me with yours."

A giggle came from the girl as she tried to break out of his grasp in a childish fashion. "Yes, but never have I thought that you would mean it quite so literally."

"My dear lady! You must know that by now all I say is to be taken quite literally." There was something in that statement that made Thinker anxious. There was something wrong here, something very wrong indeed.

Said lady seemed to have similar feelings. "Nobody takes everything literally all the time, Alfred." She said, trying to put on a smile as she continued her attempt to get out of his grasp.

The man smiled. "I feel that you shiver. I believed that living with that baker would make you feel warm wherever you went." The woman did not appear to like how things were going. She started getting more nervous and more frightened with each passing moment.

"Life with John is a hard one, Alfred. It makes me resistant to hard work, but never have I heard that life with a baker would keep one warm no matter the weather."

From its place among the frozen leafs, Thinker simply sat and watched with huge, unbelieving eyes. This was certainly not like with the squirrel. Thinker was just contemplating on leaving when a drop of water hit her on the nose. On instinct, the bee looked up, and was amazed on what it saw.

The ice on the leafs was melting, so was the snow around the two mice. Also, the air had become unnaturally stuffy, especially for this weather. Now even more edgy then before, Thinker turned its attention back to the couple only to find the same kind of despair on the girl's features. The man, on the other hand, appeared quite at ease and maybe even a bit cheerful at the whole scene. Almost humming, he slowly pulled a knife out of his inner pocket with his free hand, twirled it a bit in his fingers then looked at the girl.

"Has anyone told you before that you have a most wonderful shade of **_green_** in your eyes?" At the hearing of those words, Thinker wished for nothing more than to flee, to be as far away from this place as possible, but somehow, it found that its wings couldn't move.

"A-Alfred?" the woman, now a step away from hysteria, practically screeched. At her frightened tone, the man laughed – a hard, menacing and practically-unearthly laugh. Then he turned back to the girl with a maniacal smile on his face: "**_Oh, don't get too frightened, girl. I wouldn't want you to overburden my heart before I tear it out of your chest. You _were _serious about it belonging to me, right?_**" The man twirled the knife between his fingers and then slashed it towards the girl so fast it just seemed like the girl's sleeve tore open because of the pressure of the blood spurting out of the slash along the girl's left arm. **_"The pain should kick in right about…"_**

The girl screamed, but the man swung the blade out towards the girl with frightening speed and the scream was abruptly cut short. **_"Oh, sorry, were those your vocal cords? I was aiming for the jugular."_** Thinker sprinted from its hiding place, then few as fast as her tiny wings could carry it. The sound of the unearthly voice cackling while using the sharp knife with the ease of a professional spurred it into a mindless run for her life. The last it heard before knocking into Olivia was a strange, crackling sound. As if something was burning.

"Mr. Bumbles!" Olivia cried out, taken by surprise as the bee hid under her cap. "What has gotten into you? And did you hear that?"

Hear it? Thinker all but witnessed it!

"It sounded like a scream. Maybe someone is in trouble."

Thinker did not know those small wings of hers could support both her and a child mouse for five minutes straight. Still, that thought had crossed the bee's mind only after they had landed in the snow next to the riverbank, for until then, all Thinker could think of was the fact that that male mouse had _glowing red eyes_, and he had stabbed that lady without the slightest sign of remorse.

"Wow, Mr. Bumbles…" Olivia said, frozen in place. "You are one strong bee, you are… even if you don't really look like one. All full of surprises. Just like Basil's full of surprises." She attempted to get up then, but found her legs to be too uncooperative at the moment, so she decided to just lay there, her upper body propped on her elbows, breathing rather heavily. "I hope he's all-right. Last time Ratigan came very close to killing him and the doctor. But then Basil did something and the whole plan back-fired! You should have seen it, Mr. Bumbles! Basil was simply outstanding! Got himself free with the smallest of efforts! Though Dr. Dawson did give him the proper motivation, or so I guess… you see, I was stuck in a bottle and couldn't quite hear what they were saying."

Thinker looked at the little girl. They were in the park, lying in the snow, a murderer close by and on their way to rescue Basil from a very big rat that tried to murder her … and this girl was contemplating on past events? Could the situation get any stranger?

The confusion must have been evident on the bee's features for Olivia almost immediately started giggling. "No, Mr. Bumbles, I'm not mad quite yet. And I know perfectly well what we're getting ourselves into."

That Thinker doubted even more.

Suddenly, Olivia's face hardened, much to Thinker's further confusion. For a moment, Thinker feared that the murderer had somehow found them, but that wasn't the case (Thank the lord). Olivia was looking rather intently at something in the snow. The bee tried to see what it was, but all it could find were some small dots here and there.

In an instant, Olivia pulled out Basil's magnifying glass and scrambled to those 'dots'. What she was seeing and Thinker didn't, Thinker didn't know, but it must be something very interesting if this girl was peering at them so … Basil-like.

"Mr. Bumbles … do you know what these are?" Thinker shook its head. "These are spider marks. I know because one almost ate me once – so I've done quite a bit of reading on them." Thinker didn't know if it was more surprised because this child knew how do identify _spider _tracks… or because she claimed she could _read_…

"Aha!" The girl cried, jumping to her feet. "I knew it! These, Mr. Bumbles, are the tracks of a _nuctenea umbratica_, or more commonly known as an evening spider." She pointed to a set of tracks. "And these here –" she pointed towards another set of tracks ... which – to Thinker – looked somewhat bigger the then others "– belong to a _brachypelma smithi_, or to a creature we all know as: a tarantula! And look at this!" She zoomed a few feet further away. "These tracks here show that the spiders were going in this direction, almost like they has a purpose in their wondering, but these here –" She stopped to point "– show that they stopped. Something stopped them dead in their tracks …. And judging by their other tracks they seem to have become undecided. See here? They actually split up over here." She ran back over to Thinker. "Do you know what this means Mr. Bumbles?"

Thinker shook its head – very slowly.

"It means that we need to be more cautious from now on. Evening spiders are quite harmless, but tarantulas are dangerous. I hear that they eat mice!" Incredible… "And what's more – before the spiders became confused, they were heading towards our destination." Even more so … "But don't worry, Mr. Bumbles. I know what we must do now!" Really? "It will be a minor setback on our initial plan, but it will hardly matter. The result will be the same. But first, we need to see if we can find some wasps you can make friends with."

Olivia could just as well have sprung another head and Thinker would _still _be less surprised then she was in that moment.

"Trust me, Mr. Bumbles. I know what I am doing here." That's what worried Thinker. "I read in Dr. Dawson's stories that Basil does these things all the time. And if he can do it, then so can we." What was with the 'we'? "But now come. We're on a rescue mission, after all, and as Basil likes to say: the game is _still _afoot!"

Thinker shook her head, but all the same could not help smiling at the little girl's enthusiasm. She was as mad as a hatter, that she was, and if it didn't know any better it would actually go on and say that this girl was actually related to Basil. That was not quite the most reassuring thought in the world, but hey, a bee couldn't be picky concerning one's hive. Thinker only hoped that the older mouse wouldn't suffer a heart attack upon discovering who the 'rescue team' was.

Irony of the situation though: that was exactly what she was feeling at the moment.

"Curse this retched body of mine…" muttered one Basil of Baker street as the pain in her left arm and torso finally gave away. It had been odd, to say the least, how just as her escort had left the room she felt as if a knife was being trusted into her chest with her left arm starting to burn with pain as well. In a moment of pure panic, she was certain that that was exactly what it was. Still, when the pain began to lessen, she found that there was nothing there to cause such pain. Thinking the matter over, she almost could still detect no reason for pain. For one brief moment, she thought that maybe her heart was finally failing her – stress and a dive in freezing water can do that to a mouse – but then immediately banished the idea. This was not how a heart attack was supposed to feel. Well, she supposed that this was not how a heart attack was supposed to feel. If anything, this was just a sign that she _did_ catch something in her dip in the lake and that she needed to take it easy for a while. Yes, that was all. Nothing else.

But even so, the timing was just perfect.

"Why does it always seem to let me down in the worst of times?" Naturally, nobody was there to answer her question, which in itself proved to be rather odd as well. Where was Thinker? She remembered asking that pesky bee to remain here… Oh! That lizard was saying something about a "killer bee" being after him when she ran out of Ratigan's rooms. The silly fool – he most probably gave the bee a greater fright then her Thinker could ever give him.

… Did she just refer to the bee as "her Thinker"?

Simply marvelous! The insect was starting to grow on her! And now that she finally stopped finding it overly impossible to live with, it goes and vanishes just like that. Up until now she had done all that stood in her power to keep it away from her and now when it was finally out of her fur she goes and misses it. Wasn't life simply magnificent?

_"Life is a very bitter, my dear. It will try to hit you with its worse, and hit you it shall – but you must always rise again despite the pain. People come and people go, that is but one of life's greatest hits. That is why you must remember never to take anyone or anything for granted…" _Brother Myerricroft's words echoed in her mind, as clear as they had done now almost thirteen years ago. He was right of course. Brother Myerricroft was always right. But then, why did it still hurt whenever she…

NO! This was not the time to go there! Memories were of no use to her now! She had to keep focused.

"'Tective?" a small voice came from the doorway, dragging her from her thoughts. Upon turning to the source of said voice, she noticed it to be a boy: a small bat with a bandage covering his right eye. It was a scrawny little thing, much like most of the less fortunate children of London, but unlike most of those less fortunate children, Basil knew this one. This boy was the thief that tried to steal Clawes' wallet the other day.

"Boss said you's has to eat this." He said simply, placing a tray of food on the floor then taking a few steps back. For the longest of time, Basil merely stared at the fellow. What was Ratigan playing at?

"Where's Fidget?" she asked at last, her tone demanding. The boy was fidgeting.

"Boss gave him a job. I's taking over." That much was obvious. "Boss said I's gotta guard ya', feed ya' …" his stomach growled. "And take care of ya' till cousin Fidget's back." Basil raised an eyebrow. This was interesting.

She moved closer to the tray and took a good look at what lay on it: two loafs of bread, some cheese, a bowl of pea soup and a glass of water. It was a modest meal - _one fit for a prisoner _– but even if that soup looked ever so tempting, she currently had other plans.

Under the child's gaze, she picked up the glass of water, sniffed it and then looked at said child with a scowl on her face. He gulped. She snorted. "Well, tell your _boss _can wait till the dawn of the next century, for I possess no wish to honor his request." Was her response as she placed the glass back on the tray, none all too gracefully.

To say the child was shocked was a terrible understatement. "You's not eating?"

"Yes, 'I's not eating'. On the contrary, in fact, and I ask: why would I eat anything that rat sends me? For all I know it can very well be filled with poison!"

"But … but … but it's food!" the child was obviously missing the point. "And boss will be mad if the food's not all gone. You's had to eat it!"

Basil rolled her eyes. "I don't _have _to do anything. It was by my choice that I am here, and it is also by my choice that that food won't be eaten by me. But if the contents of that tray _have _to be devoured then why don't you just eat them yourself? It's not like anyone is going to know it was not I who ate it."

"But boss…"

"Your boss might just as well go and hang himself for all I care!" She finally yelled out, hoping that this child would finally understand that she didn't care what '_the boss_' said.

"That lowlife, downright, miserable, no good…" she kept on muttering to herself, slowly pacing the room from one side to the other, taking extra care with her leg. Why did she save him? Really now, why did she bother saving that slimy sewer rat? It seemed like the right thing to do back them, but now she found she very much regretted it. The professor was still impossible, she was still her prisoner, London was being terrorized by _something _and there was nothing she could do about it.

… Or maybe she was jumping at conclusions here.

She pulled out her notebook again (It was a good thing she managed to find it again after all that happened) and looked at the symbol she copied from the prison floor: it was exactly like the one in that portrait above Ratigan's fireplace. Coincidence? Impossible. There was a connection between the professor and whatever it was that was going on in London – of that she was certain. Question was: what?

Basil allowed herself to smile. Now this was definitely a very interesting development.

_Think! _Now, murder was not beneath Ratigan's level - that was something everybody knew. Neither was manipulation – or sending others to do his dirty jobs for him. But usually his crimes had a motive: either to gain wealth or to dispose of a threat (or an annoyance). But with this … it didn't really add up. What could he gain from murdering poor baker girls? Could they have annoyed him in some way? Or maybe they resorted to blackmail? That was highly unlikely. According to Clawes and Vole, they were simple young women who were earning their living by providing London's mice population with bread and cakes. That wasn't a reason for Ratigan to wish for their death. And it was clear that they didn't have the brains necessary for blackmail or to inconvenience the professor in any way, so revenge would be out of the question. And of course, there was no proof that there actually was a connection between the two girls – other than the obvious ones. Plus, had that been the case, then why kill the ones who did the actual murder? Had they been ether paid assassins or simple puppets that wouldn't be a reason to…

Or were the real targets the 'murderers' themselves? The possibility existed, however unlikely it sounded. If she knew Ratigan at all, then she knew that he liked toying with his prey. Maybe those poor souls angered him somehow so he hires them to kill the girls then… But is still didn't make any sense! Ratigan is one that sticks to simple yet effective plans. Something so complex is most unlike him, especially if it's just to eliminate a few unimportant targets. If all he wanted was to 'clean up', then why go through all the trouble of devising such a troublesome cover-up?

_Cover-up?_

That gave her an idea. Now, Ratigan was certainly taking his time being 'dead' – which in itself was certainly not like him. The professor was a sucker for attention – he practically craved it – so then why the secrecy? There was a plot afoot, she simply knew it. What if all of this was just a diversion, a complex cover to mask his true intentions? The murders had the Yard's full attention, so whatever he was scheming could go unnoticed. It certainly sounded plausible… But if _this_ was merely a diversion, then she shuddered to think of what the real thing could be like. And how did Lord Henry's murder fit in with all of this?

Basil sighted. She needed more data. But where to get it?

With the corner of her eye, she saw the boy actually listened to her advice and was currently munching away on the pea soup. _Hmm… Maybe…_

Leaving the child to his food, she turned and retrieved a crumpet from her bag that up until now had been lying forgotten on the floor. She sniffed it, took a bite and slowly chewed, enjoying the flavor. After taking another bite, she looked towards the boy. Just as she predicted, he was done with the food and was now looking at her with wide, hungry eyes. Or… not as much at her as at the crumpet in her hand. If he would have been looking at her it would have been creepy.

"Something the matter?" she asked the boy innocently. He shook his head, yet his eyes didn't leave the crumpet, not even when she moved it from one hand to the other.

After what seemed like an eternity - and another bite from the crumpet – the boy asked: "Where did ya' get that?" Basil smirked. She had him.

"The crumpet?" the boy slowly nodded. She shrugged. "Oh, my landlady gave me a few before I left home the other day. She can be most insistent at times …" Basil took another bite. "Yet I am forced to admit that in all my years I have yet to taste a finer treat." That being said, she threw the remaining piece of the crumpet in the air and much to the boy's dismay, caught it in her mouth and swallowed. "Yes, that really hit the spot… far better than Ratigan's pea soup, I reckon."

At the mention of the soup, the boy turned to look at the now empty bole, stomach growling loudly. When he looked up again, Basil was right in front of him, holding up another _delicious _looking crumpet.

Unable to resist, he leaned in to retrieve it, only to have Basil move it out of his reach.

"Tell me boy –" Basil said with a chuckle. "– do you want this crumpet?" Smiling, the boy answered with a nod of his head, only to change it to a shake. "Now, I don't believe that. Nobody can say 'no' to one of Mrs. Judson's cheese crumpets. Especially when they are still so fresh…"

The child was practically drooling. "What do you want for it?"

Basil chuckled softly. "You're quite perceptive I see, dear boy. Most of your fellow colleagues wouldn't catch on so fast. Yes, I indeed wish for something, much like any who'd happen to be in my position –"

"I's not gonna' lettin' ya' 'scape for a crumpet."

A single eyebrow went exceedingly high at the conclusion of the little bat's statement - if only to hide Basil's amusement. "Child, what leads you to believe that I seek to further anger your master after my most foolish escapade from earlier? I very much prefer to remain alive to catch another Christmas, thank you very much. No, what I want, my dear boy; is merely to be kept informed with the comings and goings of this place."

"'Comings and goings'?"

"What's Ratigan doing, who he's employing, who he's dismissing, if he's having any plans set out for me - those sort of thing." Basil cleared her throat in order to shake out a cough she felt was coming. "Simply put: I just want to chat with you and maybe find out what's happening around here. Being left in the dark is never a pleasant experience. Not to mention that it's terribly boring…"

The boy looked from her to the crumpet. "And ya's gonna' give me tha' crumpet?"

"And I'm going to give you the crumpet." It took some hesitation before the boy finally approached her and took the crumpet from her outstretched hand. As soon as the treat was in his possession, he started munching away, a dreamy look in his eyes.

Basil chucked warmly at the child's actions. "I take it you like?" A nod. "My landlady would be most pleased to hear that."

By this time the crumpet was more than half devoured. "T'is so yummy! Never ate somethin' like this before!"

_No doubt…_

With a roll of her eyes, Basil cleared her throat in order to gain the child's attention once more. "As you can see, I covered my end of the bargain. Fancy covering your own?" The boy actually smiled as he replied: "Ask what ya' want!"

It was time to test a theory: "Well, then, before we actually start, mind telling me your name?"

The look of absolute and total confusion on the boy's face was priceless. "My name?"

Basil smiled. "Well, I can't keep calling you 'boy' forever, now can I? I doubt that would be very comfortable for you. It certainly isn't comfortable for me talking to someone whose name I don't know."

"I guess …" For a moment the boy appeared uncertain of how to answer, only to make up his mind a moment later. "Well, my mom calls me Dedecus (1). Dedecus H. Brown when she's mad." Basil frowned at that particular piece of info but decided to keep her thoughts to herself on the matter. "But tha' guys around 'ere call me Midget cuz' I's the smallest of tha' lot." He concluded with pride. Basil didn't dare shatter that small ray of self-esteem the boy still possessed… even if it was wrongly-placed.

"That's… quite interesting… Midget." That felt odd. "Now, concerning the matter at hand –"

"What's yer' name?" The abrupt and carefree nature of the question caught Basil completely off-guard.

"Excuse me?"

"Well, I's can't call ya' 'tective forever, now can I?" Trust a child to throw her words right back at her… She was supposed to see it coming! Maybe she should have eaten more than a crumpet after all…

But still, at least that confirmed her suspicions concerning the boy – or at least strengthened them. Dawson told her about these children, but she didn't believe she would ever actually have the honor of meeting one. (2)

"You ask a rather odd question for a jailer, dear boy. I was under the impression that one such as yourself was supposed to know as many things about their charge as possible."

By now, a sly, knowing smile was fully displayed on the bat's face. "Ya', they told me'. But they don' talk much 'bout ya'. Seems to upset the boss or somethin'. I's guessing you's something my mom calls a 'taboo' round 'ere. Back in the begin' of my stay with cousin, sometime in fall, one of the guys slipped and started talking about ya'. Didn't see him the next day…" Basil could imagine why. "But when you's appeared again Cousin Fidget told me a bit about ya'. Said you's a detective that kept messing tha' boss's plans. But 'e also said you's mean, and big, and bad, and strong, un-trustful, and that you's gonna eat the heads off of poor, unsuspecting, 'onest men like us whenever ya' can."

… How did one react to such a description?

"But you's not eaten my head off yet, so I think he's just been pullin' my leg. After all, before 'e left, Cousin first just say that I's to watch after a basil and report back to the boss every hour or somethin'. And I was asking myself, I was: why look after a plant (3)? But then I remember tha' boss yelling 'basil' whenever he talks to ta' … It was just now that Bill told me I's to take the food to tha' 'tective and get back to watching ya'. Why is everyone calling ya' a plant? That can't be yer' name." He finished with a giggle.

"Yes… Well…" it took Basil some time to make sense of the boy's words, and even more to actually _find _the proper words for a reply. "Despite how hard it may be to believe, 'Basil' _is _in fact my _name_."

The boy's giggling stopped abruptly and beneath the grey fur the detective could see a blush forming. "Oh… erm… sorry 'bout that then."

Basil sighted. The things she would do to for information. "Well, no harm done. Looking back, I can say that I've been called worse –"

"And what?" Basil just looked at him, arms crossed, tapping a finger against her upper arm. "I mean… it feels wrong ta' call ya' like a plant and… I's two names!" He held up two fingers. "Ya'… ya' has just one?" Now he looked even more ashamed of himself, especially when Basil put her head in her hands and sighted _very _deeply. "Or… do ya' –"

"Sherrignford" Was the blunt reply. Basil was not going to give the child the chance to start rambling about such things again. _Children these days…._

"Huh? Oh! S-s-Shewinfog?" ... _could be completely incorrigible. _"No, that didn't sound right. Erm … She- Sherliworth! Er … Shellingdude?"

_Now I know how young Miss Flaversham must feel like. _"Just call me 'Basil' or 'detective' like everyone else does. Despite what you may think, I do not mind sharing a name with a… Asian herb."

The conversation had indeed taken an odd turn, but despite it all, it did present one or two points of interest. "But I am curious, child: how did you know that 'basil' was a plant? True, cooks may be familiar with it but for a child such as yourself it is hard for me to imagine how you came to know of it, especially when I know for a fact that neither one of your parents nor your other relatives are in the culinary business. Your mother, at least, doesn't appear to possess much talent in the area."

Midget gaped. "How did ya' know that?"

Basil smirked. "Oh, now that would be telling." She finished with a wink.

Several minutes later she seated herself on the floor and gave her leg a very quick inspection. It had been troubling her for some time now – even more since the interrogation began – and she believed it was high time she tended to the member. No doubt that if Dawson were here he would say something like: "you need to set out your priorities better!" or "why did you wait this long? This is _your _body, we're talking about here!"

But at least it was for a good cause! Throughout the child's silly babbling she managed to deduce several things: one – Midget had been in Ratigan's service for no more than three months since he moved in with his cousin due to some… complications; two – this boy was currently working in the kitchen, helping the cook with one thing or another; three – Bill's mouth smelled like unwashed socks; four – ever since Midget joined Ratigan and his thugs they haven't done any big jobs, only a few small robberies and pick-pocketing every now and then to keep in practice and probably the most important one, five – every couple of days Ratigan would organize meetings, discuss, plan, then dismiss his men without another word. Apparently Midget wasn't welcomed in these meetings so he had no idea what they were about. Not even his cousin would tell him anything about them. Seems she will just have to crash in on one of them.

And speaking of crashing… maybe it was time actually to attend to that troubling leg.

Now, first fact she could determine: it hurt like hell when touched, but she didn't think it was actually broken. Most certain then not it was only dislocated.

Basil looked around her to see what she could work with. The room was bare save some straw, a few splinters that were coming out of the floor and some bandages she nicked from Ratigan. She was certain she could move the bones back in place in no time flat and tie some of those splinters to keep them in place. It would be painful… but she knew it had to be done.

"That looks bad…" Midget muttered as he positioned himself closer to the detective. Remarkable how fast this child got comfortable with her.

"I've seen worse, child, I assure you." She would have said more had a particularly nasty coughing fit not taken her breath away.

"Erm, 'Tective? I need tha' take the tray back to the kitchen. Ya' need anythin'?"

How such an innocent little creature ended up in a place like this will forever be a mystery for her … "No, I'm fine. You just see to your things and don't worry about returning to an empty cell. This thing here –" she pointed at her leg "– will certainly make it difficult for me to move properly."

It was a pretty shabby fact one could use as reassurance, but Midget seemed pleased so mere minutes later, when Basil could hear no more steps coming from outside the door, she finally turned back to her leg. Now, if she was to twist this right back how she supposed it should have looked…

* * *

(1) Dedecus = lat. _disgrace_

(2) Here Basil is making reference to the mental disorder "epidemic" caused by intense Industrialization and population growth throughout the 19th century. Among many other symptoms unpredictable mood swings, a tendency for violence, childish behavior, low level of intelligence, clumsiness, trust issues with other people and even exaggerate affection shown to the ones who show the sufferer any sign of understanding and/or kindness were very among the most common signs of such a disorder.

(3) Basil, apart from the one we all know and love, is also a tenderlow-growing herb (_Ocimum basilicum_), of the family Lamiaceae (mints). Is a culinary herb prominently featured in Italian cuisine, and also plays a major role in the Southeast Asian cuisines of Thailand, Vietnam, Cambodia, and Laos. The plant tastes somewhat like anise, with a strong, pungent, sweet smell.

* * *

_After more then a month of absence, Whispers in the Dark has been updated. Unfortunately, regular updates won't return till I will be done with my exams (wish me luck!) - but they will come, this I promise you._

_So, returning to the fic - what do you think Thinker really saw back there? What's Olivia planing (and where did she learn all those things?)? And what is it with the spiders? And what will Basil do now? And what of Midget? Is he an ally, or a enemy? Or nether? _

___For answers to these questions and more, we'll see each other again in the next chapter!_

_____Reviews are welcome and deeply appreciated!_

_____

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_____**EDIT: **__new beta-read version now up thanks to the wonderful Crazy Laughter! Thank you my friend for ever and ever!_


	12. Chapter eleven

**_Whispers in the Dark_**

**Chapter eleven**

Ratigan's thugs were never the brightest chaps in London. To some, even, the very notion of the word "think" was completely foreign. But at least they did their job and they did it for a surprisingly small fee. In Ratigan's opinion, that was a rather nice compromise. Still, every now and then, miracles would happen and one thug or another would wake up and break that unwritten rule.

"KIAAAAAAAAAA!"

And after all, you didn't have to be a genius to know that when someone screams, there's usually a very worrisome reason for it.

"Basil!" when the scream erupted out of Basil' room, Midget wasted no time in bursting through the door to his charge's room, fully ignoring the dishes that scattered all over the floor in his haste. ""Tective! 'Tective, are ya' all-right? Wha' happened!"

The response was instantaneous… And filled with frustration. "What in the name of all there's logical on this earth does it look like happened? Jesus, boy! Use your eyes!" she most certainly would have continued had her voice not failed her just then and a very nasty cough ravished her body.

But still, one couldn't say that such a reaction could not be expected given the circumstances. But of course, due to certain aspects – like the ones listed above – Midget was at a loss. He saw Basil clearing her throat, barely containing another ear-piercing scream as she did so, grinding her teeth and clutching that right leg like someone was about to take it away from here any second now and all in all, was puzzled. He though something bad had happened…

"Erm… you's like tha' scream?" A shoe came flying his way.

"NO, I do not like to scream! Who does!" To her horror, Midget looked ready to respond. Why did that damn shoe miss its target? "Don't dare answer that."

"But then wha's wrong?" The child was obviously not getting it, fact which shouldn't surprise Basil too much … but even so, it did. Basil didn't know if she should try to relax, curse or attempt to strangle the child. Since the third option was most certainly out of the question – no matter how tempting – and the second one wouldn't help any, she tried to settle for the first… after mentally repeating herself that there was no way of getting away with murder.

"In case you haven't noticed, dear Midget, my foot doesn't quite look how it should … so I am attempting to _fix _it." _That's right girl. Stay calm – What's that boy doing?_

Curiously, the boy was now approached her with a very odd look on his face; looked at the troublesome body part and attempted to touch it. Basil drew it back, mortified. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Thinkin' tha' touch it?"

_That much was obvious! _"_Why _were you thinking of touching it?"

"Cuz… erm… I donno?" Basil felt a migraine coming… "Can I's still touch it?"

"NO!" she cried out, jumping out of the child's reach, action which did her little to no good, for in her rush to get away from more pain… "KIAAAA! Confound it!…" She accidentally stepped on her damaged foot. "Why you –"

She so wanted to yell at the boy. She wanted to scream, wanted to hit, wanted to tear him to ribbons! But she instead tried to calm herself. She needed to keep the act on, to stick to the plan. She had to! This was a once in a lifetime opportunity! If she could manage to win this little guy's trust, make him believe she was a… _F__riend_, then she'd have her inside man. Ratigan thought he had all the aces in this game, did he? Well, if she knew how to play her card right, then maybe she could just steal one.

She only hoped it was worth the effort…

Then the boy started to giggle.

"What… I ask… Is so funny?"

Still giggling, Midget pointed at her. "You's voice! T'is so _girly_! You's sound just like papa does whenever mama's running after 'em armed with a spoon." Basil wanted to hit _herself _for not controlling the tone of her voice! "You's so funny!"

Forget all she said earlier. _This _was certainly not worth it.

"Maybe I should just quit my life altogether just to humor you further. If my pain gives you so much joy, then my death would undoubtedly make you cry of the overdose." Basil said in the most high-pitched voice she could utter, attempting to smile at her young caretaker, though she feared her smile came out as being a grimace more then anything else. _Don't kill the kid, don't kill the kid, don't kill the kid…_

Despite the morbid message, Midget kept on giggling almost uncontrollably. But he did manage to respond with a: "That's not a nice thing ta' say, 'tective"

A muscle jumped subtly on her face, as if she were restraining a grimace – or a laugh. "If people were judged by how nice are the words they utter are then I fear that even a saint would end up being called a sinner."

His reaction was a wholehearted laugh. "Ahahaha… You's right! Right! Right! Right!" Basil sighted. She was never going to understand children. One minute you seem to know what's going on in their head, the next they wreck all borders of logic by blurting out the silliest of things. "But er … Wha's a sant?" Just like that.

_…Wha'?_

"I said 'saint' not 'sant', child. There is a difference." She scolded lightly, hoping that would clarify matters a bit. Apparently, it did not.

"I's said sant." He responded with confidence… But really now, didn't she say the exact same thing? "I's never 'eard tha' word b'fore. What's it mean? Is it a desert?"

For a good couple of minutes, Basil was speechless. The boy's inquiries were so innocent, his tone so completely honest that she couldn't help to smile. She definitely would never understand children.

"Well, uh, a _saint _is a person who gets recognized by a group of people or an institution, mostly by the Christian Church, for his or her holy virtues they showed during their lifetime." Better keep the explanation as easy as she could.

"'Oly vitues?"

_Patience girl… _"Acts of kindness, goodwill, tolerant towards other people, generosity, patience…" she practically cringed at the word. "In other words, all that would mean being good to the ones around you. Someone who's, in a word … nice."

The boy made a thoughtful sound then completely shocked her by asking: "Is ya's a sant then?"

"… I… beg your pardon?"

"You no need tha' say you's padon. You did nothin'. But is ya' a sant? Me thinks that you shoud be. That is tha's what a sant is. You's a nice, after all. Nicer then most guys I's know. And ya's gave a crumpet. Nobody's gave me a crumpet b'fore. And if tha's not genewosity then noth' is. And you's funny too, you is!"

The child's logic baffled her. Her? A _saint_? Had anyone else tell her such she would have though that someone was delusional, but such words coming from this boy – she felt sorry for him. Had nobody showed this child even a little bit of kindness?

"Dear boy, I am not a saint." She was forced to say. Using this boy to outwit Ratigan was one thing, but she couldn't let him live in such deep ignorance. Even she couldn't be that heartless. "Far from it in fact. I'm a detective, or at least, that was what I was until I lost a few things along the way." She wanted to say more, but found her throat to be uncooperative for the moment.

"What things?"

_Freedom, dignity, my ability to hide my voice better then now, maybe even some aspirin… _"Well, there'd be the deerstalker cap which I have no idea where it vanished, my magnifying glass which was in my inverse cape – the one that I left in old Rat-face's throne room to dry" she coughed and shivered slightly. "Fact which I now regret."

"You's cold?"

She considered lying. Basil never enjoyed it when people where fussing about her health. She even started to shake her head, but stopped and eventually responded with: "Maybe only a little bit."

The boy suddenly became very excited. "Then come on! Let's go get yer' stuff!" And so, for the shock to be utterly complete, he very casually – yet very eagerly – grabbed her hand and practically dragged her out of the room, much to her cries and protests (as well as the ones her leg were giving her).

Of course, several minutes later, after Basil convinced Midget that it would be best if she first were to at least bandage her foot, and after Midget assured her that the boss wouldn't mind – "It will fully be on your head, boy." – they were on their way towards Ratigan's quarters. But first, Midget wanted to take the all but forgotten (until then) dirty dishes to the kitchen. And he also wanted Basil to meet Cookie, an old mole serving as Ratigan's personal cook and "the greatest and smartest guy you's ever gonna meet!", but also blinder then the blindest bat there ever was.

"So, I take it our guest was hungry?" Cookie asked little Midget as soon as the bat announced their presence in the kitchen, a cozy little room which always smelled of cheese. Now, Cookie himself was a tubby critter, wearing the most enormous pair of glasses Basil had ever seen. Thanks to the spectacles, his small, almost unnoticeable eyes looked almost gigantic. But even with the aid of the ridiculous things, he did not seem notice Basil, just as much as he didn't appear to have noticed that he placed the cheese he was holding on a fire log.

"Aha!" the bat replied joyfully, placing the dishes away in a cupboard before Cookie insisted they needed cleaning – they lost too many dishes that way, was the boy's whispered response to Basil's obvious inquiry. It didn't matter that they were still dirty. And the ants couldn't get in the cupboard, so better there then besides the pile in the sink. "Tha' food was most yummy. You'd done a good job, Cookie."

It was a lie, of course, in more ways then one, and Basil looked at Midget in a very disapproving manner. The bat merely shrugged. But at least Cookie didn't seem to catch the lie. In fact, he looked positively trilled. "Oh, goodie! It's always an honor to see that my experiments work! After all, that's what cooking is all about, my boy: trial and error! Or was that what they did in chemistry… Or, no matter, they are one and the same, after all. Oh, but now dear Midget –"

"I'm over 'ere, Cookie." The boy chirped after both bat and mouse witnessing the mole speaking to his spoon.

"Oh, dear, how horrid of me! Now … Aha! Here you were! Now, as I was saying, dear boy…" Nether one of the two have the heart to inform the old rodent that he was now speaking to a chair. "Time for our little riddle of the day…"

"Tha'd be Cookie's favorite game." He explained to Basil in a whisper. "He gives ya' some clues and you's gotta figure out what he's talking about. If ya's guess, then ya's get a treat from 'em. I's not getting 'em right all the time, but you's know: every bit of food counts!"

"Now …" Cookie coughed a bit to clear his voice. "'Tis true I have both face and hands and move before your eye; yet when I go my body stands, and when I stand I lie. What am I?" Midget made a grimace. Basil felt like laughing.

"A plate?" Cookie simply laughed, and Basil couldn't help joining him on it.

"You were very close, dear boy. Very close indeed … but wrong all the same." Midget stuck his tongue out, which thankfully Cookie didn't see… For he was addressing the pot. "Think on it for a bit and tell me if anything comes to mind –"

"A clock" Basil responded, taking Cookie by surprise.

"My - that's right! Well done erm… Who are you, by the way? I don't quite remember your voice." _So close yet so far… _Basil though as she eyed Cookie examining a broom a few feet away. She tapped his shoulder to get his attention.

"That's because I'm new here, Mr. Cookie. The name's Basil, sir."

Cookie was beside himself all the same. "Dearest me! Has manners too! Oh, welcome, welcome to our family, my dear!" he said, catching her hand and, instead of shaking it like normal people would have done, kissed it most fondly. "I'm Cookie, the cook, and this little rascal down here –" he pointed at a stool "is Dedecus, but we all call him Midget." On her right, Midget giggled. "Welcome! You know, you really should get something for that cough. It wouldn't do for a young lady such as yourself to get ill now would it?" …_Lady? _

What could have happened? Had she really gotten this careless? How could… But then Cookie surprised her yet again by pulling her closer to him and gently whimpering in her ear: "Don't worry about anything, my dear. We'll look out for you?"

Now _that _really did creep her out. And to make matters worse, when Cookie pulled away, her eyes caught the shape of a symbol engraved on the spoon he had tied with a string around his waist. Upon seeing it, she felt her legs grow week and the room around her started to spin.

"Cookie, you silly old mole. Don' 'barres my charge." Midget peaked in, completely oblivious to Basil's unease.

"Watch it critter!" Cookie scolded a teapot. "I may not see clearly, but I'm not blind!" _That should certainly be under debate. _"After all, this fine example of society's finest is more then just a prisoner. This is our guest, and we should always make our guests feel welcome here."

"Whateva' ya' say, Cookie, but we betta' go get yer' stuff, 'tective. T'is getting pretty cold and me's not wantin tha' see you's gone ill." Before Basil actually had a chance to say anything, Cookie decided to speak his mind.

"Now that is more like the kind of attitude I want to see from you Midget. Mighty thoughtful of you, my boy. Mighty thoughtful indeed. And yes, we wouldn't want to see our guest here feeling uncomfortable. Oh, and before you go, serve yourself with some tart. It's freshly backed. Oh! Midget, don't wallop them all! Save some for our guest!"

"Erm… I think I'll pass." _for even if recent events were not to have taken place, those things certainly didn't look like tarts…_

"Suit yourself, but feel free to come down here anytime you want." She most certainly would… But first she had to unstuck Midget off of those 'tarts' before she would really start to panic. One final pull and – Yes! "Oh, and er… Basil?" Confound it! But wait. Maybe she could pretend to have already left… "One final word of advice for you child: don't let the boss frighten you out. I assure you he wouldn't hurt you if he'll manage to see in you what I do." - Out of all the things she was prepared to hear, that was something she did not expect. But even so, she was not in the mood to make inquiries, so after paying the old mole a quick good-bye, she and Midget left the room towards Ratigan's quarters.

Nether got to hear Cookie mutter the words: "Thank you very much for being here, child."

"Midget?" Basil finally asked once they have reached a reasonable enough distance from the kitchen. "Did you ever notice the symbol on Cookie's spoon?"

"What spoon?" he asked simply.

"The one he keeps tied around his waist." Basil explained. "There was a star in a circle in a triangle engraved on it. I'm sure you must have noticed it."

"Ah, tha' one. Well, can't say much about 'et 'cept tha' Cookie said it's tha' keep one safe from fire. Never got' tha' know what 'e meant by tha' though." After a pause in which he politely waited for another of Basil's coughs to subdue, he continued. "Cookie's a nice guy and all, as well as bloody brilliant most of tha' times, but at times I ain't getting even half tha' things 'e says. Ya' know, there are times when 'e has that far, far away look in 'es eyes. Like 'e be remembering somthin' tha' happened long, long ago. 'E always looks so sad when 'e does that. Once I asked, ya' know, and 'e said tha' e remembered tha' hunt."

"The hunt?" The boy didn't seem to know any more on the matter, so after he shrugged and changed the subject (namely asking if he could have her tart) she puzzled on the matter for a while. That is, until that fairly suspicious looking thud appeared snooping around just as they reached Ratigan's rooms. Basil studied him for a bit before she dared to smirk.

"Midget, would you mind if you go see if Rats is prepared for another encounter with me?" With a enthusiastic nod, Midget vanished behind the doors. Taking advantage of her lack of company, she dared to approach the suspicious looking thug from earlier.

The mouse was certainly a sight to be seen. A beard was covering most of his face along with an incredibly large pair of glasses that looked so much like Mr. Flaversham's (but not quite like Cookie's). Concerning his clothes though, she had to admit that she wasn't certain if they wanted to be the ones of a drunken Russian sailor of those of a penniless London street urchin.

"What?" the thug asked her in a deep, Russian accent. Very well. Drunken Russian sailor it is.

"Oh, one would only wonder what such a fine man such as yourself would be doing in such a run-down side of town, my dear Inspector Clawes."

In less then a moment, the thug looked shocked, then surprised, followed by amused and then ended with mirth. "Mr. Basil, I swear on the name of the Almighty that there must be something human about you!" he said, barely managing to contain his laughter. "How did you know it was I?"

"Quite simple really." Basil responded, hoping she could mask her no longer Basil-like voice by using that often annoying (to others) aloof tone of hers. "One: I recognized your voice. And two: I was expecting you." She paused to clear her voice. "I have deduced that you would figure out by now that the reason for my absence for this morning's meeting was due to reasons I could not control. Naturally, you being the conscious inspector that I know you to be, I 'guessed' you'd eventually find me."

Clawes, bless his modest soul, actually blushed. "T'was nothing Mis-…ter Basil. Ahem! Plus, you practically did all the work for me. That mud-covered rock you slipped into Dr. Dawson's pocket saved us a lot of running."

The "us" did not escape Basil's notice. But just then, the door to Ratigan's room creaked open, revealing a very enthusiastic, then very puzzled looking bat.

"Erm… Boss be sleeping Basil. So me not guessing 'e'll mind you comin' but … who's you's?"

For one full minute, both bat and mouse simply looked at one another, none speaking, none blinking, none breathing … until the silence was broke by Clawes yelling out a very distinctive, very threatening "YOU!"

Sensing danger, the boy turned on his heals and dashed back into the room at full speed. Clawes ran off in hot pursuit in an instant. Basil simply sighted and placed a hand over her eyes. Were she not so tired and her body suddenly decided to play a natural joke on her, she would have definitely laughed. She moved in to make sure those two didn't murder each other (or get each other murdered), but paused when she noticed another figure coming closer to them. There was something _very_ familiar in that step of his though. She decided it was best to great him.

"Good to see you to, Inspector Vole. Do come in. And my! Finally decided to take note of my suggestions concerning the practical use of a disguise while on a case? I must admit that I am flattered, though I do believe that a pillow tied around one's middle section is a bit much. Fat certainly doesn't become you." The confirmation of her deductions came in the form of a low growl… and a pillow in the face.

"Shut up! In case you didn't notice, I'm risking my neck for you here! The least you could do is _not _make things harder then they already are. _Merde!_" Yup, that was Vole all-right.

"Let go of me you creep!" Ah, and there we have the screams darling little Midget, coming from his new spot - in Clawes' grasp. As for the Inspector – he looked simply horrified by something he was eyeballing close to the fireplace. Basil's eyes traveled down to his source of nervousness, stepped closer to it, examined it a bit, then nodded as to inform the young mouse that everything was all-right. That seamed to ease his nerves considerably.

In the meanwhile, Vole was becoming more and more annoyed with the little bat that was still addressing his subordinate in such a foul language. "Let me god, before I turn you to mush!" he took a swing for him, but instead of hitting his target, he managed to somehow hit himself.

"Shut it, kid! I'm not in the mood for you!" Vole barked out in the most hostile tone Basil had ever heard him use. It was clear he was not happy.

"Then you's just gotta get in tha' mood, cuz I ain't gonna give in! And you! Didn't ya' hear, ya' bloody idiot? I said let me down!" The child started trashing again, much to Clawes' dismay. Basil did her best not to laugh as the other mouse looked as one who was slowly counting to ten… Repeatedly. Vole looked no better.

Finally, Clawes had enough. "Boy, I would be eternally grateful if you would be so kind as to mind your manners in the presence of your betters."

"Ha!" the boy laughed. "If you's be betters then I's be the bloody Pope! Now let me down, will ya'!"

"As you wish, your Holiness." Clawes responded as he most ungraciously dropped the boy on the floor. As for the boy… Well, safe to say that he did not look too pleased as he was muttering death threats. The inspector simply smirked. It was clear he was enjoying himself.

"You's a bloody sadist, you is!" The boy exclaimed as he scrambled up to his feet. He looked at Vole. "And just what do ya' think you's doing, old man! Tha' boss is gonna feed ya' tha' Fellicia when he finds out, he is! You too!" he finished by pointing at Clawes.

"Oh. I am so afraid." Vole mocked. "Why, Clawes, look at me. I'm shivering! Now listen here kid -"

"I's not a kid! I's six! And I's also in charge of tha' 'tective, and while I's on watch, ya' ain't gonna get 'em!"

"I've had enough!" Vole cried out as he reached to grab the child, but Midget was quicker and ducked behind an armchair that was placed close to the fireplace. As Vole lunged to capture him, Basil took her time to enjoy the warmth of the fire, as well as that of her dear (and dry) inverse coat and fluffy green scarf. She could hardly remember the last time she felt so content just being warm again.

"B-B-Basil!" Vole's sudden cry had startled her more then it should, for she already knew what he must have found. "It's _him_!"

"Ah yes, the great Professor Ratigan himself. And I must admit: I never quite expected him to be one to snore." And indeed there he was, slumped over his chair much like a cat, mouth slightly open and snoring soundly. The rest of the room was utterly devoid of life, just like it should be.

"Dr. Dawson wasn't joking … He's actually here … and actually alive …" Basil frowned. Was Vole's voice shaking? She turned to Clawes. He merely shrugged. "Basil, is this really the guy who almost killed you now less then a year ago?"

She couldn't help but giggle at his frightened tone. "Relax Vole, he isn't of any danger to us now, so quit your shaking."

"How can you be so sure?"

She smirked then threw the pillow Vole had so gracefully passed on to her at the rat, hitting him square in the face – much to the inspector's utter horror. Ratigan simply pulled the pillow off oh his face, turned, and then started snoring soundly again.

"P-point taken mi – erm, uh - sir." Clawes stuttered then tried to get his breathing under control. Basil allowed herself to grin.

Giggles came from the fireplace. Apparently, Midget decided to honor them with his presence.

"Now, erm … can we perhaps continue this conversation in less … worrisome company? Like … Baker Street?" Even Vole looked hopeful at that, and he rarely ever looks hopeful at anything.

Basil though about this: Baker Street, _home_. Oh, she would have said yes to that in even less then a heartbeat – even if she would never admit that out loud. She wanted to go home, to get away from the cold and pain – from the _rat _– but she knew that she still had a job to do. She doubted the two inspectors that were now looking at her with such pleading eyes would ever understand why. She herself didn't fully understand why. But she had a feeling that no matter what it would take, she just had to get to the bottom if this mystery that took place right underneath their noses.

Oh, she must have gone at least a little mad for thinking of a stupid case given her current situation, but if her trade taught her anything, it was that if you ever forgot the point you chose to reach, if you go astray from the path you began to walk, you'd end up loosing yourself among billion other roads and even more such points. To feel lost in the world, to just find yourself there, and not know why you were actually there.

She turned her gaze slightly towards Midget. The little boy, still partially hiding behind Ratigan's armchair was watching her with such anxiety, such sadness, that Basil felt her heart break. Though nobody had noticed, not even her at first, the boy was lost. He had no real purpose in life, just like she had no purpose. Oh, she did try and make herself a purpose – to solve cases, to crack codes and make puzzles; to just be useful to someone – but even so, without that little sanctuary she create for herself, she knew she was nothing. She couldn't be like Vole or Clawes, could not be like Dawson or Mrs. Judson, could not even be like Mr. Flaversham or little Olivia. She could not live so carelessly like they did, she could not walk her own path, because apparently, she had forgotten how which that was. Overall, she found that she was more like Midget: she accepted to walk the path which others brought her to, depended on others to give her a reason to life, and now, when she was finally given one, she would stop at nothing to see it to the end. If it meant that for that one reason, for that one _strange _reason she would have to always shock and annoy the world around her, if she would have to be cruel and merciless to others, then so be it, for she remembered feeling lost, remembered not knowing, remembered being weak and helpless… And she never wanted to have such an experience again.

Maybe Dawson was right when he said that she was downright messed up in the head.

"My dear inspectors, I must admit that nothing would please me more then to return to my warm sitting room and enjoy a pipe or two or even three in the company of people who do not wish to kill me. But even so… I cannot." There, she said it, and knew – from the moment she saw the looks on the inspectors' faces – that she will truly have to fight for her purpose this time.

And speaking of the inspectors: one should point out that the best adjective to describe the two at that precise moment would be 'shocked'. For indeed, they were shocked – one more then the other.

"What do you mean you 'cannot'?" Clawes had asked finally, trying to determine if what he heard was true, or if he was hearing things.

"Just what I said. Now, I do not wish to appear ungrateful, but due to recent developments it has become impossible for me to leave for the moment." Best be as cold as possible, for if she knew these men even a little bit, then she also knew that leaving without her in tow was definitely out of the question. She had to annoy them, had to make them hate her if she had to, but she had to get them out of this place – and fast! For apparently, Ratigan has been turning in his sleep.

Vole was _already_ livid. "Basil, what the hell was that supposed to mean?" Basil sighted. This was not going to end well. And Ratigan was stirring again…

"Did I stutter, _Inspector _Vole? I said I cannot leave _now_." While Vole was busy swearing most colorfully in his native tongue, Basil moved her foot a little. The little fixing that she did on it didn't seem to help much.

Clawes used this moment to step closer to her. "M-sir, maybe you should listen to the chief-inspector for once. If anything, it might shut him up." He attempted to be humorous, but Basil sadly – tiredly – shook her head. At that, Clawes frowned, until his eyes rested on her wounded leg. "Sir, if it's because you're hurt it wouldn't be a problem for me to carry you."

Basil shook her head. "No, it's not that." She turned to look at the now closed door, hoping Clawes was perceptive enough to understand her message. The young inspector followed her gaze till the door, then looked back at her – back to the door, then finally back to her. Suddenly, and idea sparkled in his mind. Basil smiled.

"Then what is it, for God's sake?" Trust Vole to eavesdrop only to bellow a moment later. "If you think that we'll run into someone on our way out? Well, despite what you think, Clawes and I can take care of a few thugs before any would have the chance to raise the alarm."

She sighted. This was not the message she was aiming for. "Vole, do you seriously think I didn't think about that? I may not trust people with many a things, but do you honestly think that I have that little faith in you?"

"Then why Basil?" Basil wanted to cry in frustration! She was tired, she was hurt, she was experiencing one of the greatest headaches of her life and these two weren't helping her at all! Couldn't they bloody see that she was doing this for them? Couldn't they see what was at stake here? No of course not! They never saw it! She always had to spell it out for them!

…Spell it out?

She was such an idiot! But of course she had to spell it out for them! So quickly, but cautiously, she started searching among Ratigan's discarded clothes.

"Erm … Basil? What are you…" She ignored Clawes' obvious question. Now, if she was a lighter, where could she… Aha!

"This, gentlemen, is your 'why'." Basil said, trusting a small silvery object into Clawes' hands. Vole approached to see as well. "Tell me, what do you see?" After a short examination, Clawes stared at her with wide, attempted to say something and then felt unusually faint as he handed the item to his superior who reluctantly picked it up.

"It's a cigarette lighter." He said, stating the obvious. "And judging by the rather large 'R' on it, I take it this is the rat's. So what?"

"Can you not see anything else?" Vole stared at Basil, clearly confused. Then he turned to back to study the lighter, attempting to apply the detective's deduction methods. Hmm… Apart from the fact that it was old, overused and the owner had thrown it at two or three henchmen, he couldn't see anything unusual about it. What was he missing?

Almost like she was reading his thoughts, Basil brought a little light on the subject by drawing his attention on a certain part of the device. "Look at the mark under the R. Does it tell you anything?"

Well, Vole had to admit: Basil had _really _good eyes. On first glance, said mark looked more like nothing more then simple scratches, but on better examination Vole could tell it was indeed something there. A five point star trapped in a circle, everything inside a triangle … it told him nothing.

"Very well, I see it. I will admit, you are extraordinary … Now tell me what it is that I see"

"I honestly haven't got the slightest idea." The inspector stared. "That would be your job, inspector. That mark has appeared on the murder scene of every one of those ladies that were murdered these past few days. The ones from your 'spontaneous combustion murderers' one?"

"You saying Ratigan's the murderer?" He suddenly cried out. Basil clapped her hands over his mouth.

"Whas' a murderer?" came the shy voice of Midget from behind Basil. She never even noticed when he got there. Clawes took it upon himself to gently take him away from the two and promised to explain all he wanted to hear if only he wouldn't make a fuss.

"I'm not certain." She responded in a whisper. "That's why I need to stay here. To be positive Ratigan really _is _behind it all. You yourself said that have good eyes. If Ratigan is up to something, then I'll see it. And Ratigan won't even know I'm looking. For all he knows, I'm just his prisoner and nothing more, when in fact, he has a spy among his men, a spy that hides in the one place absolutely nobody will think to look. Now, can I trust you not to bellow anymore?" A nod. "Good"

"But what if he does notice? He's bound to get suspicious if you start snooping around. Ratigan isn't exactly dumb you know."

"Be that as it may, this is a risk I am willing to take. Plus, who says I'm not complaining? And I also already tried to escape once and he didn't murder me yet." Maybe she should have added the 'yet' in there. "But for now, he knows I made a promise to stay and that I now have to abide by it." And most certainly shouldn't have used the word 'promise'.

"Have you gone completely and utterly mad, Bassu? You're saying that you'd stay here, in the midst of the most retched bunch of cutthroats this side of Thames, rather than leaving with us and letting the police haul them all to jail now that we know who the murderers are and where their hideout is? And all because of a _promise_? Don't take this the wrong way, but I don't think you even know the meaning of the word."

Clawes quietly reassured Midget that Vole didn't want to hurt his charge, but also looked like he wanted to say something to his superior. He didn't have the chance.

"Vole, for god's sakes, just trust me on this one. Please. I cannot break this promise, not yet at least. If I leave now there could be catastrophic consequences on the whole of London... I think."

"You THINK!" The inspector hollered, for he simply couldn't believe what he was hearing. Clawes looked defeated and Midget was getting wrestles. "For all that is holy, do you have any actual _proof_ to support your _thoughts_? You can't go sticking your neck out every time you get paranoid thoughts, Basil. You're the most wound up person I know when you're _not_ on a case, so is it in any way possible that you're seeing a mystery here when there is only the risk of death, or worse?" He would have continued had Basil not tied her scarf around his mouth.

"Yes, I do. Yes, I can. No, it isn't. Jesus, Vole, I have no idea who's been feeding you aresen but you need to get a grip on yourself! Now, will you leave before Ratigan sober up enough to notice you raising your voice in his private quarters?"

Almost like some divine force was trying to make her point known, Ratigan stirred and yawned in his armchair, then almost painfully slow, opened his eyes.

"Darn it all…" he muttered to himself, trying to get the sleep out of his system.

"Good morning Sleeping Beauty. Having a nice hangover?" He could recognize that annoying voice anywhere.

"Shut your trap, Basil. I am not in the mood for you." By the fireplace, Basil looked up from the book she pretended to be reading. From the corner of her eye, she saw Vole and Clawes hiding behind a broken table. She discretely signaled them to lay low, then – despite the ache in her foot – gracefully approached the grumbling rat.

"Well, I did say that you needed to lay low on the brandy, did I not?"

"I thought I said to shut your trap!" Basil smirked. Annoy him just a little bit longer and he'll start to… Dear god… She was hallucinating… Please! Let it be a hallucination! That – the thing she saw sneaking into the room was NOT Thinker! "And bear in mind you little bastard, that few things are stopping me from braking you skinny neck."

Ratigan kept on speaking, but Basil didn't quite catch what he was saying. She was rather preoccupied trying to mouth the words "The bee" to Clawes – which luckily he understood and stopped Thinker before she flew right in Ratigan's face. Basil was finally able to breathe again.

"Have you been listening to even a word I said?"

"What?" She can't believe she let her guard down like that. "Oh, my apologies professor, but I was never one to listen to my teachers much." Ratigan growled, but she took that as a god sign. "But I must admit that you surprise me. Reading philosophy? I didn't quite though you to be the type who would read _The Republic _while not plotting evil schemes and such."

"And I don't remember bloody asking you!" With that, he snatched the book out of Basil's grasp and got up, most certainly to put it back among the other volumes. Basil turned to the inspectors and tried to signal them to get out. "But now I'm asking you: how come I find you roaming inside my private quarters without my permission for not only the second, but for the _third_ time today?" Only to signal them to lay low less then a second later.

""E's ere with me, boss." God bless that deranged little critter! "You's said I's tha give ya' owerly reports on our guest. And I's listening. And Basil was saying that she'd be bored, so I's though: why not take 'em with me? So here we are." Basil didn't knew where did the little bat come from, but she was glad that she did, for somehow she doubted she could invent a plausible excuse on such short notice.

Ratigan was still able to critique that response. "Already calling our 'guest' by name? Oh, my dear little helper, that is so sweet of you… and I despise sweet things." Basil pulled the bat out of Ratigan's reach just in time. To be on the safe side though, Basil didn't stop Midget when the child attempted to fly away, but nether could she stop gasping when in his haste he accidentally hit the painting above the fireplace.

"AHHH!" Basil didn't knew Ratigan had so good a' lungs. "You blubbering idiot! Look where you're flying!" He said, running to see if anything happened to his painting, almost like a father was checking over their newly-born baby. "Oh, my precious, has that little vermin hurt you?"

Basil had to roll her eyes.

Again, she turned to the inspectors and saw to her great surprise that they seamed to take advantage of the situation and were slowly making their way out. She almost felt like dancing, but didn't think that would go to well with her le-… Hello? What did we have here? Lying on the floor, exactly at her feet, was a very old peace of paper. Casually, she picked it up, but to say that she was surprised with what she found would have been an understatement. It was a portrait of Ratigan and even if she was not so familiar with arts, Basil could tell that it was not the work of a professional. There wasn't even a signature. And what's more, the paper looked so very… old and –

"What do you think you're doing?" Ratigan practically spat as he yanked the paper from her hands. You would have said that he caught her adding poison to his dinner with that reaction!

"I was not aware looking had suddenly become forbidden." She shot back.

"It is when we're talking about my private documents!" Private what? Very interesting…

"Private documents? You –" she pointed a slender finger at the rat "must still be under the influence. That was nothing more then a doodle, your Noseness!"

"It was NOT a doodle! It is art of the very best quality!" Riiight… And she was the most beautiful mouse in London. "But even if it wasn't, you shouldn't have been snooping among my things! What where you doing around Terra's portrait anyway?"

Now this was _very _interesting. "The portrait? It was lying on the floor!"

"It must have fallen when that bat hit it."

And this was ridiculous. "And how could I know that?"

"Enough!" It was about time too. She was getting tired of this argument. "Just… Just…" And apparently, so was Ratigan. "Oh, curse you, Basil. Why must you always get your big nose into my business? Why can't you, let's say, be annoying for somebody else for a change?" That must have been a trick question. "Never mind." He sniffed. "It's too early to…" He sniffed again, and again… and again… and he was getting a bit too close for comfort.

"Something wrong?" she finally asked, interrupting Ratigan in – dare she say it – his sniffing of her person.

"Why do you smell of blood?"

… _Oh bugger!_ "Well, I've been in…" Don't babble girl! Think! Think! "It's not what you may be thinking. I'm just – Ouch! Damn leg!"

That last part wasn't intentional. Really it wasn't. But it seamed to have done the trick though, for Ratigan's entire attention shifted to her wounded member. Commanding her to sit, then threatening to feed her to Felicia were she to give argue with him just one more time, he most unexpectedly started to examine it. He made a couple of characteristic remarks along the way, such as "See you couldn't quite put it back in place… Typical" or "Wining already? My, Basil, I never knew you were such a porcelain doll" – but there were also some things that he said… which made her wonder if he _really _was still under the influence: "You have surprisingly small feet for such big shoes" or "You really shouldn't force your feet when their healing" (but at least that last one was followed by a "otherwise if I ever let Felicia play with you she'd get terribly bored").

A question needed to be asked, and it was asked eventually, but only after she glanced one more time towards the place she last saw the inspectors. They weren't there. "Why are you doing this, Ratigan?"

For a moment, she could have sworn that he was caught off-guard. "Well, as you know, I'm not one to be comfortable when in debt, so I'm just returning the favor. You did, after all, did a pretty much – Aham! – helped me when I had been facing certain difficulties. And regardless of what you think of me, I _am _an honorable man."

There were many times when she was struck speechless in her life, but for the very first time since she could remember, she did not know what to _think_. She didn't know what surprised her most about Ratigan's small speech: the fact that he answered; the fact that he was _honest _about it… or the fact that he was indirectly helping her. No matter the reason, a small part of her suddenly wished she was wrong and that he wasn't responsible for all those murders that were going on in London. "Now – " a sniff "Get ready pipsqueak. On the count of three, I'm going to pop you leg back into place. Ready? One…"

"AAAAAHHHH! What ever happened to two and three?" … Forget all she just said.

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_After a unacceptably long absence, WitD has returned with a brand new chapter. Hopefully the one chapter every two weeks update shall return to it's proper place in my agenda, but I am not making promises. Also, I must warn you that this chapter hasn't been properly beta-read yet, so a few changed might come these next following days. But nothing big, mind you. Until then though, questions are bound to arise. Firstly - what in heaven's name is happening here! And If Thinker just appeared, then what happened to Olivia? _

_For the answers to these questions and more, stay toned for the next update!_

_Reviews are - as always - welcomed and greatly appreciated!_

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p.s. many thanks to **daughterofBarricade** for giving me the idea for the ending ;  
p.s.s. even more thanks go to **Shas-O-Suam** from DeviantART for beta-reading it for me (you're the best!)


	13. Chapter twelve

**_Whispers in the Dark_**

**Chapter twelve**

After several years serving as inspector at the London Metropolitan Police, Vole was under the impression that he had lived to see them all: husbands strangling their wives because they burned the meal, wives poisoning their husbands because they snored, best friends quarreling over a peace of cheese (when they owned a cheese shop, mind you) and the list could just go on. But somehow, someway, one certain amateur detective always managed to make him feel like the newest and most incompetent of constables, for Basil was in the habit of constantly surprising him with his… erm, her deductions.

Such an infuriating… civilian! A _woman_!Bossing him around! Had his father lived to see this day, he'd never let him live with the shame. But he had to accept the fact that were it not for the nosy know-it-all, he might never have reached the title of Chief Inspector. For Basil – as annoying as he-_she _was, always knew what she was doing and what others should be doing. And what's more – she never hesitated to inform said others about it. Him especially it seemed. And even more so: she was a perfectionist. Everything had to be in check and each move had to be perfectly calculated when dealing with a case. Problem was: he didn't always see the logic behind all these 'perfectly calculated' moves. She was literally leaving him in the dark, and Vole hated that more then anything.

Everything was so mysterious when it came to Basil, every time there was something between the lines, and Vole was constantly surprised (sometimes unpleasantly so) by the result of Basil's meddling. True, the case was always solved, but with what price? That of his honor? That of his reputation? That of his _life_?

Yes, she _had_ successfully solved many a' cases for him and even was so _kind _as to let him have all the credit, but on those moments when she was literally taking over the case he didn't know if he should feel insulted, honored, annoyed, pleased of himself or murderous. This time however he certainly felt murderous.

"Had she taken complete leave of her senses?"

"Inspector, lower your voice, please. We're outside the house but I doubt we are out of earshot." Clawes, always the more practical one, reminded his superior in a whisper.

"I can be as loud as I want, thank you very much!" Vole snapped back. "I risk certain death or even demotion coming here, having the best interests in mind, mind you, and what does she do? Makes her own rotten plans behind our back, that's what! Women!"

"Now Inspector –" There was a warning in Clawes' tone just then, but Vole was too preoccupied being mad with Basil to notice.

"I have had it, Clawes! I have had it up to here –" he lifted a hand close to his temple "– with this… this _farce_! It makes no bloody sense! It's so twisted and tiresome and… and… and… _Merde_! " He wanted to say more, but for some reason, he couldn't quite figure out what else to say. He opened his mouth a couple of times, hoping the words would come out on their own, but nothing ever did. His brain was completely blank, for once in his entire life was he faced with such a situation.

He looked at Clawes. The lad was politely waiting for him to continue with his rant, a rant Vole no longer knew the purpose of. With a sigh, the short gray mouse turned his back on his subordinate, taking a seat on a nearby exposed tree root.

Vole didn't understand. He didn't understand anything. There were murders that needed to be solved, others that needed to be avoided as well from the looks of things, the only one who could help them was being held prisoner by a rat who apparently didn't die after a fall of Big Ben and now, when he was standing mere feet away from the house where Basil was, he couldn't do anything. Of course, Basil was probably right when she said that having an inside man (or woman) was the right course of action in the long run, especially when – as Basil didn't fail to point out – Ratigan seamed to be involved in all of this. But still, all things considered, Vole still couldn't understand.

Careful not to disturb his superior, Clawes took a seat besides Vole and looked at the house. He didn't speak, didn't look at his superior and didn't make any moves that would bother the other mouse. He dimply stood there, a keeping a silent watch over everything, and Vole was grateful. Yes, Vole was grateful for the silence, and for the understanding the younger man was showing him. How he was blessed with such a man as a partner in this whole fiasco was beyond him, but for that one silver lining in this shit storm they had walked into he was grateful.

Sensing that eyes were on him, Clawes dared to turn to Vole and almost hesitantly, offered him the most honest smile he could give while placing a reassuring hand on the other mouse's shoulder. _It will be all-right _his gesture said, and Vole smiled.

_God bless you lad._

"Thank you Clawes." Vole said when the hand left his shoulder. "And sorry about earlier. I just wished that this whole thing would make more sense."

"I know, sir. A lot cases seem to be like that, I reckon. But don't worry. We always managed to crack them somehow. I don't know why this one would be any different."

"Probably because it is unlike any other case we ever encountered before?"

"Plenty of cases were unlike any others we encountered before." Clawes quickly pointed out. "I believe you remember about your first case with Basil, right? The one concerning those secret plans stolen from a government official was it? (1)"

Vole searched his memory before smiling once more. "Yes, that was our first case together. It was an odd case, I'll say as much, but not that much out of the ordinary. I recon I could have solved it without Bassu's help… today." Clawes chuckled. "Be quiet, you! It's not like Basil never helped you on a case which later proved to be ridiculously simple."

The chucking suddenly stopped. Vole was worried for a moment that he somehow insulted the lad. He knew, after all, Clawes was brilliant, more so then he ever dreamed of being, but not quite as brilliant as Basil. "There's no use in me saying that I try to take after Basil and apply her methods when handling a case, for you know that very well yourself. But still, despite the fact that I know how to use her methods and I do try to apply them as best as I possibly can, it seems that the talent for seeing the truth sticks with Basil. It's like she simply knows, if you know what I mean. Sometimes I even get the thinking that she can look right into your very soul."

Vole grinned. "Oh, I know about that one. It's called woman's intuition." That brought the chuckles back. "But you're right. Basil does have a gift for these things. As hard as it is for my honor to admit it, she does notice things other people don't. Or to use her exact words, I'll say that 'it's her business to know what other people don't'."

Clawes quirked an eyebrow, a knowing smile brightening his face. "Oh, so you do read Dr. Dawson's publications."

"I said nothing of the sort." Vole countered much too quickly. "But getting back to the matter at hand: what are we going to do now?"

_That_ was the question.

For a couple of painful minutes of 'nothing', the inspectors' thinking was suddenly interrupted by a rather annoying buzz coming from Vole's backpack. Rolling his eyes, he turned to open it, not without scolding his subordinate: "Why did you insist on putting this bee in my bag?"

In the bag, they saw Thinker trying desperately to free itself from the scarf Clawes used to restrain it.

"Because I don't have one and the scarf does a poor job on restraining that stinger it's got" Was Clawes' excuse. "And should I remind you that it tried to sting me… twice – and it succeeded… twice."

"Believe me, I _heard_. But that doesn't explain why you don't just dump the retched creature in a ditch somewhere."

"Vole, you're terrible!" Clawes cried, snatching the bag and bee away from his superior, much to the other's amusement. "Don't worry bee. We aren't going to dump you in no ditch. We just don't want you to hurt us with that there stinger of yours." That being said, Clawes slowly started to free the creature. Vole rolled his eyes.

"Clawes, will you please cease playing with that insect! In case you haven't noticed, this is not the time nor place for it!"

Clawes chose to ignore him. "All right then, bee. I am going to free you now, but I ask you not try to sting us anymore. I assure you, we wish you no harm, nor your master." The last bit was added as an afterthought, but to Vole's surprise, it seamed to have done the trick for the bee immediately stopped struggling. A moment later, it was free of the scarf's hold, and surprisingly enough, made no move to attack them any more. It just puffed for a moment then proceeded by stretching its wings.

"Well I'd be dammed." Vole muttered to himself at the bee's antics.

"Don't be, sir. Remember that this is the bee Mr. Myerricroft Basil sent his sister, and as little as I know that mouse I can vouch that he must have had a reason for it."

Vole thought it over for a moment until the answer simply hit him. "Ah, for protection. Subtle enough for it not to be that eye-catching but not quite subtle enough for Basil not to get the message. Bees _are_ sometimes used as pets. Mr. Myerricroft must have sent it once he heard about the first girl's murder and immediately though about his sister and her habit of constantly poking her nose into certain mysteries. Then, when the other murders came to be, he must have decided that a visit may have been in order." It was a ridiculously simple deduction. But the implications to it all…"But there is one thing I don't quite get: how did he know? I don't think the press had gotten any wind of these incidents yet or I would have already been demoted."

"But Buckingham Palace and Parliament must have." Clawes pointed out. "After the Diamond Jubilee incident, the Prime Minister became a bit paranoid concerning the Queen's safety and wanted for his staff to be up-to-date with all the comings and goings of London. If Mr. Myerricroft is working for the government and I'm thinking he is then it's quite possible for him to have heard. The government has men all over the place."

"Secret service now… Simply beautiful." Vole muttered. "But how did you know that mouse is working for the government? I don't think he mentioned that to me. And don't tell me you somehow deduced it by his cufflinks or by the dirt on his trousers."

"There is that. And I asked while you were unconscious."

Vole wanted to hurt himself.

"Speaking of which, sir, why do you think he decided to send her a bee of all things? Yes, bumblebees are loyal and quite scary at times. Even humans fear them. But still, why a _bee_?"

Vole snorted. "I would have though that was _elementary_: to sting old Bassu into remembering her place, of course! Bees are smart enough insects to know when someone's being foolish, and maybe smart enough to tell when to sting anyone willing to drown or strangle Bassu. What did you think?"

"Sir… are you familiar with sign language?" Well now, that was unexpected.

"Well, some basics, maybe. My grandpa was mute after all… What's it with you and sign language all of the sudden?" It may have been his frustration talking, but really now; sometimes he feared that this boy was beginning to think too much like Basil.

"I think the bee is doing it." Tell Vole that Basil was a woman – well, it could be worse; tell him that her brother worked for Parliament – sure, why not; tell him that the bee this mouse sent her knew sign language – you had to be kidding!

"_Merde!_" Vole cried out. The bee _was _using sign language! And it was telling him about Basil needing rescuing, about what happened with Ratigan, how this bee was certain that once Ratigan knew Basil was out of her room he would kill her and it couldn't do anything except call for help, how it came back to Baker Street and tried telling them that… how only the Flaversham girl heard it out… how _they _came… found some spider tracks… _tarantula _tracks… and how this bee witnessed _a strange murder somewhere in THIS PARK! _"You have got to be pulling my leg!" Vole cried after translating the bee's message to Claves.

"Sir, this is bad. This is the fourth murder today and it cannot be a coincidence. We need to investigate this before someone finds the body and the whole city will be plunged into panic. And Miss Flaversham is somewhere around here, possibly in there!" he pointed at the house. Clawes put his face in his hands and sighted. "Sir, we need to do _something_!"

"Shut it! I need to think!" Vole snapped. God, he didn't sign up for this… What would Basil do. "Right now, we need to think things trough. Now, it's still early, and it's Monday, meaning that we won't have to worry about anyone finding the murder scene until later on today. Basil is, for the time being, safe and I think we can rely on her to have some sort of influence over Ratigan if his thugs find the girl. But she needs to be alerted of the situation and she must learn about this new murder. But that would mean getting right back in there…" He puffed. Why didn't he choose a less-stressful career? Like maybe a fire-fighter?

Suddenly, Clawes cried: "I know!" then turned to the bee. "Miss bee, can you be discrete?" The bee nodded. "Thank you. Now, we need you to go back and find Basil and tell her everything you told us. I know that's what you've tried to do when we stopped you, but you must understand that Ratigan must not know of you. If he would, then you'd only create more problems for Basil. So you need to be certain that Ratigan won't see you, especially not around Basil. Do you understand?" Another nod. "See, Vole? One problem solved."

"Yes…" Vole said, lost in thought. "And you also gave me an idea lad." He got up from his seat, took Basil's green scarf from Clawes' hands and with determination, marched over to where the bee was hovering. "Bee, listen. I know Basil can be downright stubborn when she wishes, but this is important. You must deliver her this message from me – me being Vole – along with your report. Now listen closely: we'll play her game but only if when she finds out anything that might be useful, she needs to send us a message _trough you _back to Baker Street telling us about it. Tell her that this is no time for heroics and that we need to know what she knows. Also, tell her that we are going to give her any information that we managed to get our hands on concerning this case. That would insure her cooperation. You got it so far? Good. Now remember bee – you are our connection. A lot will depend on you from now on, so don't mess it up. Ah, and one more thing: it's best if we hear word from her – again, trough you – every day. If two days pass without us hearing anything, tell her that we'll be back to take her out, no matter what she'll say. You got that? Good. Now get in there, tell her so, and don't get yourself caught! Use the scarf to hide yourself. Remember: nobody needs to know you're here!"

With a most serious salute, the bee took the scarf from Vole and, although burdened by its weight, flew back towards the house. Almost instantly afterwards, a cold, practically artic wind came blowing from the north, making Vole shutter. Snowflakes began to fall again and the inspector joined his subordinate on the exposed roots from the base of the tree. The lad was giving him some odd looks, but he found that he didn't mind.

"Sir –" Clawes started, almost hesitantly "– this must sound like an odd moment to say this, especially when you may be aware of it, but there are times when down at the station some of the inspectors would wonder how you made it to be Chief Inspector. I'm ashamed to say that there were times when I would ask the same…" He wasn't surprised. "But now I know what Basil meant when she called you the Best of the Professionals when some constables were talking behind your back once." …Basil said that? "Because, pardon my language sir, but you were bloody brilliant back there." He was?

"But what did I do?" he asked, genuinely curious. Clawes smiled at him.

"You were being the Chief, that's what you were. I doubt many would be this organized when faced with so many things all at once. You really do deserve to be the boss" Clawes finished with a grin then hopped to his feet to inspect the area better.

He didn't deserve such words, Vole thought. He honestly didn't think that he deserved such words, especially when he felt anything but. He doubted Clawes heard his muttered "Thank you" from there, but he meant it. He really did.

Digging into his inside pocket, he took out the stress pills the Superintendent gave him. Taking one out of their little bag, he was ready to swallow it, when he stopped. There was something that Basil said earlier that puzzled him. _'I don't know who's been feeding you arsen'_… It could have been nothing, but it still made him reconsider. The Superintendent was a regular bastard who made everyone's lives a living hell, so why give him stress pills? It was no secret that the mouse was planning to sack him at the slightest mistake, so what was it with this kind gesture?

Vole took the time to examine the pill in his hand, pondering for a moment why he never done so before.

It was a small, white, oval thing, even by mouse standards, but apart from that, it didn't look that unordinary. It looked like your average liver pill, now that he stood to puzzle over it. Sniffing it, he could detect no smell and he remembered that their taste was by no way unusual then any other pill he had ever taken. All in all, it was – from all points of view – just like any other pill. Why then did Basil's words trouble him so?

"Well sir, I don't see hide nor hair of any hostile looking fellow nor any other kind of fellows for that matter, so what say you if we make ourselves useful and see what we can find at the new murder scene?"

"Yes, in a moment… Say, Clawes?" Vole asked. "What do you suppose Basil meant when she said that she didn't knew who was feeding me arsen?"

Clawes looked thoughtful at that for a moment before attempting to brush it off altogether. "I'm sure it's just a figure of speech, sir."

"But what if it isn't?" Taking his eyes off the pill, Vole noticed that Clawes' face suddenly took on a grave expression. "Think about it Clawes. You said so yourself that Basil has an eye for these things. What if she noticed something we didn't?"

"Sir, I beg you to tell me you're joking."

"Clawes, listen! I know what you think I must be losing it, but bear with me for now. Now, as far as I know, you're good at chemistry right?" Clawes nodded numbly. "Good, because here's what we're gonna do: together, we'll go see what we can find at this new crime scene and if it's related somehow with all the rest. If I managed to understand anything that insect said, is that we have big changes to arrive first at the crime scene, and we'd be a pair of complete ninnies if we let this one slip, especially given the circumstances. Now, depending on what we find, we either label it as just another murder in dear old London, completely unrelated to anything that happened in the last few days and the bee was just delusional…or we start to worry. If it's the first, then we go back to the Yard, report, and leave the matter to someone who actually has time to kill. Is Graysone still with us? No matter. But, if it's the second…"

"We curse the heavens?"

"Among other things, but that would be a lovely start." And to top things, he was serious about it.

Several minutes later, they were facing what must have been one of the most gruesome crime scenes they have witnessed in a very long time. Vole was worried for a moment that Clawes would be sick. Hell, he was worried _he _might get sick. And just so everything would get even better, all clues show that this was indeed another one in the series.

Vole was the one to take the first step towards the scene, not noticing the slight dip on the ground. If he did he might have realized that under the thin veil of snow there was a sheet of freshly frozen water and there was practically no friction on the surface he was stepping on.

That was of course _if _he had noticed those things. His leg slid from under him and his attempt to regain his balance caused him to fall on his ass that much harder. He grunted his teeth for a couple of seconds before opening his mouth.

"Oh, _merde! Castor congelé à un cornichon merde!__ C'est des conneries!_" Vole shouted out with vigor that was in par with the sailors in the seedy harbor pubs. Clawes couldn't help but grin, but he was also worried about his partner's wellbeing so he asked if he was okay.

"_Putain de merde_!" Was his swift response. He then slid himself over to where Clawes was standing and quickly stood up. He stretched and after it seemed he hadn't fractured anything he dusted himself off and decided to act like nothing had happened. The situation was not right for comedy.

"All right, I guess we cursed the heavens quite enough Clawes. Now what are we gonna do?" Vole asked once they established a perimeter and gathered all the clues they could – which, unfortunately weren't much: just the murder weapon, an discarded wallet and the remains of a hat and overcoat that might lead them to the identity of the killer, a patch of melted snow that must have been the killer and that cursed symbol again, engraved somewhere below the melted snow. He would have missed altogether had Clawes not decided to look for it thanks to ol' Mother Nature.

"Well, we might begin by calling in back-up?" Clawes suggested as he was looking among the girl's belongings. "The girl obviously lived in a bakery judging by the smell of her clothes – the ones not covered in blood, that is."

"And the murderer clearly died by spontaneously combusting… Yes, it's clear that this is the same as the others." Letting out a puff of hot air, Vole stepped away to puzzle over the situation. Clawes soon joined him.

"Should I head back to the Yard and ask for some constables to come help us out?" The suggesting was tempting, but not all that inviting.

"No." Vole said. "Not yet at least. Remember what you said back at Baker Street? The fewer that know about this, the better."

"I was talking about Basil, sir. The fact that London's greatest detective is gone missing is one thing, but to cover up the fact that another murder has taken place and Ratigan – the rat that fell of _Big Ben – _is the leading suspect in a trail of mysterious murders is a bit much, don't you think? This thing is becoming too big to be covered up. Surely we need to tell the Superintendent at least."

"Normally, I would agree with everything you say, but there's this feeling I have…"

"Feeling?" Clawes repeated when Vole trailed off. His superior was hardly ever had 'feelings', but when he did, even Basil tended to listen. And that gave him reason to worry.

"Never mind. It's just the ravings of a half-mad old mouse you're hearing here" Vole said, trying to brush off the younger mouse's worries. It didn't really help.

"Half-mad or not sir, we still need to do something. And you're still the boss here, so the decision is all yours." Why did he have to remind him?

"Can't you think of something for me? I feel my head's about to crack open! I don't even know where to begin with this! There's this, and there's that and there are so many things that needs considering all at once!"

Clawes decided to help him out. "Basil pointed out an interesting fact now a while ago. Remember? About that symbol? Maybe we can start from there and see where that leads us. Also, we can look up the girl with more care, or the murderers for that matter. There has to be some sort of a connection."

The suggestion wasn't half bad. "You're right Clawes. That _is _what we should do!"

"But first we still need to announce the Yard, sir. Sooner or later this thing needs to be announced. If word got out that we didn't file this in, losing our jobs would be the least of our worries."

Vole felt a migraine coming. Of course, Clawes was right. That was what they should be doing. But then why did every fiber of his being tell him that was exactly what he should _not _do? God! He needed to think and for god's sakes! May he be dammed but he wished that Basil was here right now. He'd go and kiss that annoying little creature if she'd be here and do what she did best: take over for him! But Basil wasn't here. She was risking her life and probably his sanity trying to get him inside information on what could be the source of this mess. No, he couldn't be selfish. He had to take care of this. He somehow had to. He had to prove that he wasn't a Chief Inspector for nothing! So, how did he get here? … By listening to Basil of course. But again: Basil was not here, so it was time for the next best thing. Now what would Basil do?

"Clawes, you are familiar with Basil's methods far better then I. Tell me, would she announce the Yard?" Clawes looked thoughtful for a moment.

"Well, honestly, I doubt it." But he didn't quite get where his superior was getting with this.

"Thought so. Now, question number two: who does she trust?"

Clawes couldn't help but laugh. "Nobody sir. Maybe Dr. Dawson and Mrs. Judson and maybe even her brother, but even so, trust may be a pretty big word. She sees everyone as a potential enemy, especially people she doesn't know." But honestly now, what was the use of all these questions?

"Very good. Now tell me one more thing: if you were Basil, what would you do right now?"

"Less talking, more acting."

"Then that is what we must do!" The announcement was so sudden Clawes was at a loss of words. "Don't you see lad? As much as it pains me to admit it, this case is unlike any other we have ever faced before and it's clear that traditional means will be of no help. Now, Basil usually always has to deal with such strange cases and more common than not, she solves them. Therefore, we must constantly think: 'what would Basil do?' and do so."

"But – but that would mean keeping this a secret from the Yard!" Clawes sounded scandalized, not much because of what he was hearing, but because of whom he was hearing it from.

"Exactly. Think about it. These murders didn't start until just recently, and that recently is just when the new Superintendent's reform began. It's too much a coincidence for it to be just a coincidence."

Clawes opened his mouth to say something but then shut it a second later. There was a look of deep puzzlement on his face. "All the murder scenes…" he started, almost disbelieving his own conclusion. "They are all on the paths of all the constables that were dismissed." Vole was merely thinking about the stress the Superintendent was putting on the men, but this sounded like a much more plausible reason for avoiding him and the Yard altogether. A fact Clawes no longer hesitated to voice out. "Sir, I fear that you may be right. The fewer that know of this, the better. But then, what should we do? We can't exactly pretend that we don't know anything. And this lady here…" he motioned towards the body. "We can't leave her here. And even if we do, then somebody is going to find her and report it in. And then you'll have even more problems then before."

"Then we'll just have to make sure that's not the case."

"How?"

Vole hated himself for what he was to suggest right now. Not once, not even once in all his life he believed himself to be capable of thinking such a thing, much less suggesting it… but right now… Oh, to hell with it!

"Look. This is what we'll do: I'll go and alert the Yard that a murder took place in Regent's Park. In the meanwhile, you clean up."

"WHAT?"

"Shush! Jesus lad! It' not like I'm asking you to murder someone!"

"But you're asking me to cover up a murder!"

"You're not covering up any murder. Listen! All you have to do is to get rid of some of the clues that would lead towards our investigation. Cover up the melted snow, get rid of the symbol, hide the wallet, hat and coat upon yourself, plant some false clues, you know better – do anything that would give trouble to anyone other than us. I trust your judgment in the matter. Got that?"

Oh, he indeed got it, but he didn't like it in the slightest. And he was sure to tell Vole that. And then there was something else that bothered him, but he didn't need to tell his superior that right then. After all, Vole did say that he trusted his judgment in the matter.

"Good. Once back-up comes, you excuse yourself from the scene and go back to Baker Street with the evidence you managed to retrieve. Do not, and pay close attention to me now, do _not _come to the Yard. If anyone asks, say you're shaken, say it's your day off, say anything you may use as an excuse to get out of there. And don't let anyone find out what you've been doing here. Can you manage?"

"I'm sure I can sir." And somehow, he didn't feel that uneasy saying it.

"And once you get to Baker Street, tell Mr. Basil everything that happened. Try and spare Mrs. Judson if you can, but do tell Mr. Flaversham that you know where his daughter is. Still, don't forget your priorities. I'll be with you shortly." He moved to leave, but then he seemed to remember something. He indeed did so and turning on his heels, he took out his bag of pills and handed them to Clawes. "Also, in the meanwhile, check these pills for me. I still feel uneasy after what Basil said about the arsen and I won't trust anyone with the chemical what-you-call-it."

"But sir…" He paused to look at the bag. "Aren't these the ones the Superintendent gave you?"

"The very same." Vole grumbled.

Somehow, Clawes would have been more comfortable if he didn't know that. "Sir, I hope you understand the implications of what you just said." Clawes said in all earnestness. "Arsenic is a very dangerous substance when administered inside the body. Even in small quantities it can lead to liver failure or brain damage or even death if we're talking about a regular consume here. If I do find something in these pills, then we're talking about attempted murder." Vole gave him a look. "Yes sir."

"Good." And with that, he turned on his heels and marched threw the snow towards the Yard, hoping that he was not making a mistake.

"Sir!" Clawes called before he got too far. "Between you and me, I really hope you're being overly paranoid over this."

He paused when he said: "So do I, Clawes. So do I." – and he meant it.

Meanwhile, Thinker found that scarves, no matter how warm they kept you, could be very tricky to handle when you were no bigger then your average bumblebee. Or at least, Thinker thought it was no bigger then your average bumblebee, for it knew that it was certainly ten times dumber then one. How stupid of it to charge the way it did earlier! The rat was so many times bigger and stronger then it was… and he was screaming at Basil, so of course, the first thing it though of doing was to defend her. How stupid of it! It could have gotten her into even more trouble! And then, when that young mouse stopped it, what did it do? It went and stung him – twice – that's what! After he stopped it from making a major fool of itself, no less. And what's more, it knew the mouse. Both him _and _the gray one that was with him. They must have been there to save Basil, and because of her… But Grey Mouse seemed to have a plan. Yes, he must have, for he certainly looked like he knew what he was doing when he barked all those orders. Thinker merely hoped that it could remember them all.

Thinker also hoped that somehow they could find the Olivia girl. Oh, Thinker knew it was not a good idea to split up and search once they found Basil's room empty. Of course, Thinker tried to voice its protests as good as it could, but of course, the Olivia girl wasn't listening, as per usual.

Fortunately, much like last time, Thinker flew unnoticed by the rat's men and soon enough it reached the double doors where it last saw Basil. After checking to see if it was anyone around, Thinker dived down to take a peak through the key hole. At first, it didn't see anything of interest, but then it spotted Ratigan sitting on a chair, a glass of something in his hand, looking intensely at something Thinker could not see. He appeared lost in though, or at least that's what Thinker thought, so slowly – as if to not make any noise – Thinker turned the handle.

Ratigan jerked out of his thoughts almost instantly. He looked at the door, but he could not see anything amiss. It was still closed and nothing seamed disturbed, so it must have been just his imagination. Shrugging, he got up from his spot and traveled the small distance to the fireplace. From its spot on a beam somewhere close to the ceiling, Thinker watched as the rat placed his now empty glass on the mantle, sighing ever do deeply and then turned to watch something… was that Basil?

"Shh!" Thinker almost jumped out of its stemum at the sound. Hands… erm… wings stopped it from buzzing off its position. "Please don't make any noise, Mr. Bee." Whispered a childish voice in Thinker's sound nerves. "Tha' boss ain't too happy now. 'E and Basil been arguing for the longest of time. Then Basil started coughing hard and tha' boss told 'em to go tha' sleep and tha' shut it or 'e'd feed 'em to Felicia. Me guesses that Basil listened, and 'bout time too. 'E didn't sound too good." Slowly, the wings released Thinker and turning, the bee found itself face to face with a child bat with a cloth covering one of his eyes. The child motioned for Thinker to be quiet and to look. Almost uncertain of its own actions, Thinker chose to listen to the child. After all, it's been listening to the Olivia girl this long.

As it continued to watch, Thinker puzzled over the reason why Basil seamed to be listening to the rat. She didn't seem the listening kind of mouse. But then again, she didn't look like the pretty kind of mouse ether. Sitting there, on a mattress, curled up and shivering slightly, Basil really did look pretty – in Thinker's eyes at least (and it's not like it saw too many mice ether). It was hard to describe the scene in juts words, more so since Thinker did not know many words quite yet, Thinker thought that 'pretty' was indeed the best word it could use. Thinker also wondered why Basil didn't relax her face more. She certainly looked much better like it.

The bee's thoughts were cut short when Ratigan's movements had once again captured its interest. He had put on his coat and cape, but from where he had produced these garments remained a mystery for Thinker. Then he coughed as if he was attempting to clear his voice and took one deep breath. It was an odd spectacle, but Thinker wondered if this was what it meant to act like a gentleman.

Fully dressed now and filled with an air of self-importance, Ratigan strode casually towards the door, pausing just as he approached Basil's sleeping form. He looked at her, a bit too long for Thinker's liking, then bend down ever so slightly, almost as if he was trying to see something that should be there but wasn't – or maybe was it the other way around. A moment later, Thinker saw how Ratigan lifted his paw, left it hover for a moment over Basil then slowly lowered it in an attempt to touch the slightly longer speck of fur on the top of her head. The attempt seamed to remain nothing more then just that, for Ratigan seamed to wake up from whatever spell he was under for he suddenly straightened himself and grumbling some nonsense to himself, walk out of the room, closing the door behind him with a very distinctive bang.

Thinker sighted in relief. With the rat out of the room, it could concentrate better on finding a way to complete its mission. All it had to do now was to fly down and wake the mouse – as gently as Thinker possibly could, one might add. Basil looked so peaceful sleeping down there that Thinker almost didn't have the heart to wake her… Imagine the shot it felt when in less then it took Thinker to blink, Basil was up, and with an agility Thinker doubted any mouse would poses, was at the door, ear pressed to its wood and listening intensely.

"Taking a corner… Left one at that… Down the hall…" Basil muttered to herself. The bat, who up until now stood perfectly silent besides Thinker flew down right next to her and promptly imitated the detective by pressing his own ear to the wood of the door. "Apparently he's heading towards the kitchen." Basil concluded as she pushed herself away from the door.

"How do ya' know that?" the child asked with a frown upon his face. It was clear that he didn't know what he should be hearing.

"It's quite elementary, my dear Midget. The intensity of the sound while trave- Ouf! Thinker, putting the fact that you seem to like to knock the life out of me aside, I honestly don't know if I want to strangle or hug you right now – especially after what you nearly did back there you stupid bee!" Thinker didn't really care. Strange as it sounded, especially given the short time span, Tinker missed the detective, really it did.

"This your bee, Basil?" the child Basil called Midget asked, stepping closer to have a better view of the insect. "Smart one 'e is. Stud up with me and really listened when I's said 'e's to stay quiet."

"One can think of Thinker as a living paradox. It can have both moments of brilliance (for a bee) or those of way of thinking that is less advanced then those of a worm." Basil replied as she finally managed to un-stick Thinker off of her. That task complete, the detective looked ready to ask Thinker something when a particularly harsh cough nearly made her lose her balance. Luckily, she managed to lean on the wooden door before her legs became too weak to support her weight. In the time it took her to regain her breath, Thinker had been buzzing worryingly around her head and Midget even dared to pull on her Inverness cape to prevent her from falling.

"'Tective, ya' don't sound well." Midget practically stated the obvious with that remark, for even Basil could not deny that these coughs were not a good sigh – more so now when they tended to be harsher and lasted longer by each passing minute. It was a wonder she managed to keep her breathing steady for as long as she did when she faked sleeping (only so that psychopathic rat would leave her alone already!) "Maybe ya' should actually listen to tha' boss and lie down. That's what I's do whenever I's sick."

"Maybe later Midget." Clearing her voice to prevent another cough from coming, she accepted the scarf Thinker gave her and tied it around her neck. Though she would never admit it, she still felt terribly cold…

"I still think ya' should lie down." Midget insisted. "Boss must have a reason why 'e told ya to do so."

Basil snorted. "I may be brave, but I'm certainly not dumb enough to sleep with Ratigan in the same room as I. But I would rather not have to test and see if he'd stick to his threats ether. But we'll discuss about old Sewer Rat later. Right now I want to hear what Thinker discussed with our two inspectors."

Thinker did not question how Basil knew that, instead took the remark as its sign to begin her report. As precisely as it could, Thinker narrated all the events that took place since Basil exited her room, pausing only so the detective could regain her breath after another nasty cough. She looked one step close to murderous when Thinker told her about Olivia and deeply troubled upon hearing of yet another murder. After serving a very abridged version of the events to Midget (who just wouldn't stop it with the questions) she limped over to the mantle and with her eyes on the painting above it, began to ponder upon these recent events. The fact that Olivia was somewhere in this house made her terribly uncomfortable, but she couldn't much jump out and search for her with that leg – no matter how well Ratigan mended it (she still couldn't believe it). And she couldn't much count on Midget for this one. For one thing, she was asking too much, and for another, odds were Olivia could frighten the poor boy off.

"'Tective, I don't get it." Midget confessed as he positioned himself by her side. Thinker casually took a seat on her head. It appeared to have taken a liking to it. "What's happenin' 'ere? And why do ya' need ta' know all these things? And what are them inspectors doin'? Weren't they bad guys? I didn' tell tha' boss cuz ya's covered for 'em and I's thought it be a reason for it, but I's not getting it"

Basil sighed. "Midget, as much as I appreciate your help you must know that these affairs are not suitable for one your age." While looking at the picture, an idea suddenly sprang to her mind. She set to build a tower from bits of broken (but not completely so) furniture. "All I can tell you for now is that people are being murdered in London and while I am currently enjoying the company of a renowned murderer, it is my job as a detective to put a stop to them, even if I may –" a cough "– Dash it all! Even if I must abuse of old Sewer Rat's hospitality. Aha!" Tower now done, she slowly – so as to not hurt her leg more – climbed up till she managed to stand on the mantle. Then, taking her magnifying glass out of her cape, proceeded with a detailed examination of the portrait.

If there's anything she learned out of this whole business is that this portrait – or more exactly, this lady – somehow seemed to be the key to this whole mystery. Hmm… Now this was interesting. There appeared to be two layers of paint on this one. One of them was relatively 'fresh' – no more then a few years – and that layer seemed to be most visible among the flowers and clothes that appeared in the picture. As for the face and some… now this paint looked old. Almost too old for it to have been laid on canvas in this lifetime. And the new paint was covering some of it. If she could take a bit of it off with her claw… Why, looky here! The new paint did cover the old one. And apparently, from what little she could see, the image underneath was rather different. Wonder what could Rat-Face be hiding…

"'Tective… I's not think tha' boss will… will… will…" Close to exasperated with the boy, Basil turned to give him a look. To her surprise, both Midget and Thinker (who now say practically unmoving on the boy's cap) looked at her with huge, disbelieving eyes. She didn't quite like those looks.

"What's wrong with you two?"

Thinker shock its head and midget lifted a finger, pointing speechlessly at the painting. Basil looked back at the painting, but couldn't for the life of her figure out what they say to trigger such a reaction. Clearly confused now, she turned back at them and asked again: "What?"

"It's tha' lady sir…" Midget finally managed to voice out. "Tha lady in the picture sir… she… looks just like ya'!"

Were the circumstances not quite so special, she would have laughed, but right now, she was simply confused. She turned her eyes on the portrait again. Maybe there were some small similarities… but no. This was –

She never managed to continue that line of thought, for just then her lungs seamed to cease functioning properly. A horrid cough shocked her body from all ends, the magnifying glass falling from her hand. Midget flew up and tried to pat her back, Thinker was zooming around her head, but all Basil could understand was that the couching just wouldn't stop! Almost like she was chocking… or drowning.

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(1) reference to the Sherlock Holmes short-story _The Bruce-Partington Plans_. Although in that particular story Inspector Lestrade had a rather small role to play, let's just presume that Vole wasn't quite so lucky. Given the fact that the year of that case was 1895 and Basil and Dawson did not meet until 1897 – and that Basil seems to like having someone with her on a case just so she can show off – we can assume that Vole had pretty much taken the good doctor's role as Basil's "side-kick" (but if he asks, I never said that).

* * *

**Now beta-read by the wonderful _Crazy Laughter _!You're awesome!**

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_A cliffhanger! Ahh! Gods, I'm evil! And also, sorry: another un-beta-read chapter, but I'll look over it more in the next days (but could NOT miss this update!) Also, no Olivia in this chapter, even if I gave enough clues to suggest that she would be. But never fear! She'll return full force! In the meanwhile things seem to go from bad to worse, and Vole's finally showing off some of his old self again! Wherever his decisions will prove to be good or bad, we will see. And just is it with Ratigan all of the sudden? Could it be that he is finally starting to see beyond Basil's mask?_

_For the answers to these questions and more, stay toned for the next update!_

_Reviews are - as always - welcomed and greatly appreciated!_


	14. Chapter thirteen

**_Whispers in the Dark_**

**Chapter thirteen**

Maybe splitting up was not the best idea she put in practice today, especially since that seemed to have led Olivia crawling through the tight empty space in the walls of one old human house (not the cleanest place in the world either, not even for a mouse).

She studied her new environment closely. Exposed bricks, dirt, dust and spider-webs became quite common around here. Olivia sighed in annoyance. She really hoped that by some miracle she was heading in the right direction. This place was so… _dirty_! And she felt so alone.

"I wish Mr. Bumbles were here…" But of course, he wasn't.

Some time ago, when she and Thinker got to the villa, the first thought that sprang to Olivia's tiny little head was that the place was simply _huge_. How were they to find Basil in there? She didn't even know where to begin! But Thinker seemed to, and tugging on her scarf as to not let the mouseling get sidetracked, led them towards the last place the bee saw its master. It was a wonder no guards noticed them yet, but small things did tend to go unnoticed most of the times. Still, once they arrived at their destination the place was deserted, and all 'Mr. Bumbles' seemed to know at the time was that Basil went 'out'. Or at least, that's what Olivia managed to make out.

That certainly wasn't enough to go by, but then Olivia came up with the brilliant idea of splitting up and search for Basil individually (she either failed or chose to ignore 'Mr. Bumbles'' protests at the idea). Right now, she found that she regretted doing so. Oh, why couldn't she remember that she had a natural tendency to get lost? It was still a wonder how she got here in the first place. Did it happen when she almost ran into the lizard? Or when she ducked from those drunken mice?

"I'm not sure the' boss will like it, Cook." Olivia froze. She knew that voice. That was Fidget! But, didn't her father say that he fell in the Thames River?

"He doesn't like many things, Fidget."

Curious, Olivia pricked up her ears and waited for Fidget's voice to ring up again. She did not have to wait long.

"I know that, Cook. Me don' want him to get mad at me again." That was it. Keep on talking you silly old thing. "Last time I gave the' boss bad news he fed me to that stupid cat of his." There. That was it, a tiny crack in the wall. A few more mouse feet and… Bingo!

Taking a peek through the crack, she saw Fidget, fidgeting away like the bat normally did. And there was someone else there as well. Moving a bit to get a better view of said 'someone else', she noticed that it was a mole. Or at least, she supposed it was a mole. She never ever met one before. But it looked a lot like the ones illustrated in her school books, so it had to be a mole. And judging by said mole's attire, it appeared to be a cook.

"He won't get mad, my boy." The mole said. "Trust me on that one."

"Cookie, you no know boss like me do." Fidget said, still staying true to his name. "He has no problems with you. You've known him for long. But we don't. He's no fair!" Fidget didn't seem to hear the kitchen door opening. "I mean, how was it my fault that Basil was there? He's bigger and stronger than me and smarter too, so it can't be my fault. And he even outwitted the boss back then so…"

"Were I you, Fidget, I would choose my next words _very_ carefully." Olivia watched from her spot as Fidget suddenly went stiff, then started to shake almost uncontrollably. Only one could make the cheeky, fidgeting Fidget act like that.

"It must have been just a fluke! That it was: a fluke! You's so many times better then tinny-winny Basil. All strong and smart and – and –and – and …"

"Oh, do shut up Fidget." Turning a bit to see better, Olivia finally had the sewer rat in view. He certainly looked as mad as his voice seamed to say.

"Yes, boss!" Fidget shrieked with fright before launching into an apparent never ending narration of past events that he was aware of. "Well, you see boss, me's been moving around, listening in on coppers and asking around like you's said, but so far, nothing's been happening around town. Just a killing or two here and there, but when aren't there killings in London? Lots of humans own cats and dogs and mouse traps as well as ra-… I's mean, you knows how it is. But apart from that, nothing been going wrong at all. All's pretty quiet and all, but you's gave me a job so I went to do it. So, I though to myself, that I did: why not go snoop around them coppers nesting place? It's not like I's can't go unnoticed, ya' know. So me went and met up with my source there. He's been having lunch, so me got there just fine. Me source down at the station, a friend of an uncle as I's said once before, that is, a man we trusts and all that. Heard he about to be married with Harry's sister. You know, Harry, your wine guy. He always finds ya' the best kind of wine there is. All human made."

A low growl was heard right then and Olivia shifted to get a better view of Ratigan. The larger rodent appeared to be massaging his brow. Then, drawing a deep breath, as if he was trying to steady himself, said: "You're getting side-tracked, Fidget…"

The voice he used when speaking was soft, but that was just why she didn't like how things were going for Fidget. If memory served her right, then sweetly voices coming from that rat were never a good sign. It's not like she sympathized with the bat or anything, but last time he angered Ratigan she clearly remembered that he ended up being thrown in the river.

Fidget seemed to be thinking much along the same lines, for he started shivering almost uncontrollably. Gulping down, he summoned up all his courage to mutter these next words: "Well, this mouse said that the guys at the top have something going. Something big he says, very hush-hush. Nobody knows just what it is. Just that he's been hearing things. Rumors. Well, thing is, he heard that some poor guy died in jail. Burned to a crisp he said."

There came a crash from the side. The mole, whom apparently had taken to washing some dishes (in… soup if here eyes were not playing tricks on her) during Fidget's report, was gathering the broken pieces of a plate. He must have dropped it – moles were never pretty handy creatures, or so she had heard. That mystery out of the way though, Olivia shifted in her place once more to fully take in Ratigan's expression. To her, the rat appeared puzzled. Yes, puzzled and – dare she think it – worried? But over what? It couldn't be because of the plate, even if he did seem to be looking at the mole. But then… why?

"How did he end up being burned?" Ratigan asked suddenly. For a moment, Fidget looked taken aback, as if he did not expect such a question. That, or the mole's clumsiness distracted him.

"I no know. He not said. Papers say nothing either. Me nicked a few, but nothing there but boring things. But me source said that some big guys are on case. One of them is French guy – erm… Vel-something and that new guy – Claw or something like it…"

Ratigan's eyes widened at the size of dinner plates. "Detective Chief Inspector Vole and Detective Inspector Clawes?"

"Yes, that them!" Fidget cried almost cheerfully. Ratigan yanked him up by the ears.

"You fool! Those two are the best of the Yard. If they're on this case _together _then it has to be something big!" He dropped the now petrified Fidget to the floor. "And what's more: Vole is known to ask for Basil's assistance whenever he stumbles upon a very difficult case… Hmm…" Ratigan now adopted something Olivia would call a typical 'thinking pose'. It was clear that his brain was working a mile a minute, but regarding what, Olivia was not certain. But then again, she was too busy watching to think properly at the moment.

"Fidget, tell me –" Ratigan began after a pause. "– Did your '_contact_' mentioned Basil's name in your little conversation. Think hard!" He cautioned when Fidget started to shake his head. "The slightest mention. The very slightest mention of our detective. Did he mention anything at all? Even in passing."

Fidget was ready to shake his head again, but then he paused. Something clicked in his usually empty head. "Oh, 'e mentioned something about Basil. 'E said Basil came – yesterday morning. Came in and spoke with V-guy. Didn't see Basil go, though."

"CURSES!" Ratigan screamed, making both Fidget and Olivia jump in fright. "That nosy good for nothing thorn in my side is _everywhere_! He- he- he…" Ratigan looked close to having a seizure, but then he went completely still, face reddening, then exhaled deeply, now much calmer. "No matter. There will be little consequence. I'll just have to have a nice long chat with Basil on the matter and sort things out." Olivia piped up at that. Then Basil really was here! "Now Fidget, what about the spiders. Have you heard anything about that?"

"Not much. Old lady filed complaint though. Scared her, it seems."

"Are you certain?"

"How can I be? Sorry boss. Not mean to be bad. But why ask 'bout spiders? Is not like they're not everywhere."

But the message was no longer reaching Ratigan. The large rodent was pacing the kitchen almost furiously, his mind working a mile a minute. The cook too, appeared to be deep in thought. Cookie touched the wooden spoon he had tied to his belt, deep in thoughts as well, before asking: "You think he's back, don't you."

Ratigan stopped for a moment in his pacing to dismiss Fidget (who was more than happy to oblige) then took a seat on a nearby chair, burying his face in his hands. He didn't answer.

"I would have hoped it all ended now 13 years ago." The mole carried on, taking a seat besides the rat. Beside him, Ratigan snorted. "I just don't understand who we could have missed. We left nobody alive for him to use and coming back without the possibility of finding a host is useless." Ratigan still said nothing. "James, why would he come back? It makes no sense…"

"Sense?" he muttered. "Sense?" he repeated, standing up. "Sense you say?" this time, he chuckled, yet said chuckle held no humor. "My friend, after all these ears you can still speak of sense when we're discussing him? Becky would be doubling over in laughter were she to hear you now."

Cookie frowned. "Well, you're one to speak. You were the one who made the list –"

"Which was perfect, I might add." Ratigan growled back. "And I made sure to cross down every single one. We eliminated everyone who could serve as his host. I even double-checked the background of every single woman in the country, for Pete's sake! Terra's family is now _extinct_."

"And it seems that still wasn't enough." Cookie snapped. "I told you it wouldn't be enough. Becky told you it wouldn't be enough. When will you understand that it was impossible for a mere set of murders to be enough?"

"Enough with your preaches, Cookie! I hate it when you play the saint. And what I told you now twenty years ago still stands; you are no longer a priest, _cook_! You ceased being one when you first covered your hands with blood."

"I was saving that child's soul!" Cookie cried, jumping to his feet. "The creature was possessing her! She was twenty-three! He was about to destroy her!"

"Which is why you did what you did, Cookie. What we all did, time and time again, every time, for all those years. Me, Becky, later off you – we all did what we had to do to ensure that that devil would be stopped. I never said it was easy, but it was something we had to do." Ratigan said, not in a very friendly manner. His anger seemed to have died down however, the instant he caught sight of Cookie's tears behind those incredibly large glasses. "It was too late for her, either way, and she was definitely not strong enough to resist him… Terra was not strong enough to resist him…" He never meant to bring her up. Not again, and definitely not today.

Cookie, tears now dry, stepped closer to his employer. He seemed uncertain as of what to say, then shook his head. He then turned back to his sink, quickly washed a glass (in water this time) and filled it with milk. He then handed the glass to Ratigan whom had yet again occupied a chair.

"I like people to think that just because I am a mole and don't see well that I am blind to most things." Cookie confessed when Ratigan took the glass. "But you don't need eyes of an eagle to tell that you're still hurting, James."

For a long moment, Ratigan said nothing, before: "Can't really lie to you Cookie…" he gulped down the contents of the glass. "Yes, I still miss her. I miss her more and more every day." A sigh. "Sometimes, I feel that I can still see her - a flicker color here and there, her gracious moves… Sometimes I even swear that I can hear her voice, calling me…" He frowned "Though for some reason she insists on calling me 'Ratigan'." He shrugged. "It's like she's still lurking around here someplace, playing hide and seek with me, but I know I'm merely fooling myself. Terra died and nothing can bring her back."

"I know, my friend."

"Terra died… but she didn't have to die. She was still so young… so full of life… so bright and kind and… I lost her because I was stupid enough to 'do the right thing'. Pah! If I wouldn't have been playing the buffoon for those idiots I could have prevented it! It should have been there, Cookie! I shouldn't have left her there alone!"

"It was just a lapse of judgment of your part. You were a professor, not a psychic. You had a job you had to do and you did it, just like Terra said. Regardless of that one hour you spent trying to get back, there was nothing you could have done. And there's nothing you can do now. One can't change the past."

"No, but it will help me decide on what needs to be done for a better future. First, there are those 'laws' the government had placed. They need to go. It's easy to see that they are obsolete. Always where, always will be. Then there is that whole monarchy nonsense! I was so close to make things all better… But then that miserable second-rate detective failed my plans! Again and again and again!"

Ratigan was once again furious with the detective. It was certain that thinking too much about the detective wasn't healthy for his nerves. Rising to his feet once more, he resumed his earlier pacing. But just like last time, it failed to calm him, so he proceeded by doing the next best thing: he lit himself a cigarette (briefly wondering where he had misplaced his lighter).

"The simpleton doesn't even try to understand why I do what I do. He just thinks of me as the 'big, bad wolf that wants to kill red-riding-pants'. He doesn't pause to think and see the bigger picture. In fact, as brilliant as he is, he's like all the rest; never thinking outside the box."

Cookie couldn't help the grin from forming. "Oh, I don't know about that. The impression your detective gave me was by far one of the best. And one actually seemed to have some manners."

"Ha! Basil and manners in the same sentence! Now that must be new. Especially after he so _gracefully _invaded my privacy _three times _just today, insulted me – _repeatedly_ – and took joy in my pain, the sadist. Not to mention that were I anyone else I would have surely died during the fool's attempt at freedom early today. Also, I swear he must have some obsession with Terra's painting!"

"The one you paint–"

"Yes, that is the one, and I would appreciate it if you would cease commenting on my artistic skills."

"That doesn't change the fact that your Basil gave _me_ a fine impression. And little Midget seems to have taken a liking to our guest."

"Then I shall proceed by wringing the idiotic bat's neck." And Ratigan seemed honest about it. "I sent him to _guard _Basil, not _befriend _him! He's the enemy!"

"He's our guest now, James."

"He's nothing more but a spoiled brat who turned up to be just a little more clever than most. And he's not even as bright as you might see him. Calls himself a master of disguise but I can see trough them just fine, thank you very much." The grin on Cookie's face intensified.

"I for one like your detective." Cookie said. "And I think that you should tell."

Ratigan was now confused "Tell him that you like him?"

"No silly. Tell Basil what happened between you and Terra."

"You're mad, mole."

"It would be for the best, you know?" Cookie persisted, ignoring Ratigan's growl. "You say that this Basil doesn't understand. Well then, why not make this Basil understand? Who knows? It could help you deal with this."

Ratigan glared at him. "Cookie, Basil would help me do one thing and one thing only, and that would be to get me behind bars. He hates my guts, and I hate his, and he'd be the last person alive I would tell about my relationship with Terra. Plus, I might traumatize him."

"But the detective might already suspect something. After all, you did say 'I swear he must have some obsession with Terra's painting!' and if you weren't exaggerating when you ranted about Basil's deduction abilities, then I can deduce that your detective may very well suspect a great deal. You'd just be confirming."

A snort. "If, and I say _if _I was to do so, what would I get out of it apart from humiliation and probably the satisfaction of watching the horror on Basil's face?"

"James." Cookie began, his voice serious. "I truly believe that you should tell your detective about this. No, let me finish. If he is back, then you'll need all the help you can get. And I'm sure Basil could see past your… charming means of communication and personal feelings for you. After all, this is more then another one of your petty little thefts."

Ratigan slapped a hand to his forehead. "Oh, Cookie, why are you insisting so much on the matter?"

The mole didn't answer immediately. "You remember when we first met? I was…" a pause. "… thirty-something, I think - still rather young and extremely naïve, when I was summoned to the baker's home. His daughter was ill and he believed that after the doctor could do no more for her, he should call me in. I was, after all, the village's priest at the time. But then, you and Becky came barging in and attempted to kill the child. I had no way of knowing it was the only way to stop the devil from doing the opposite… but still even a more horrendous thing to her. Either way; you told me afterwards that these girls this devil targets have three things in common: they have green eyes, are brighter then most and are related to Miss. Terra.

"They've all been rather bright as well." Ratigan added. "They've all had Terra's blood in them, so wits would be something we should be taking for granted. Terra was a genius among fools, even if she was never allowed to learn how to read. Even if now things are not quite as absurd as before, They still stop them from getting too smart." Ratigan concluded, crushing down his cigarette. "Women often prove themselves to be wiser than men, even when they receive very little education. Terra was a very fine example of that…"

"Still –" Cookie interrupted, causing Ratigan to frown. It wasn't like Cookie to interrupt him. "– The fact that they all seems to take after Miss. Terra doesn't change. That is why I've always felt like I've seen a ghost each time we meet another."

"That's why I never looked them in the eye and… What is your damn point, mole?" Ratigan finally snapped. Cookie hesitated.

"What if I were to tell you that I've seen a ghost today?"

And for the first time in decades, Professor James P. Ratigan was unable to properly process the information that he was given. It was then that little Midget came bursting trough the kitchen door, his cousin in tow.

"Boss!" Midget cried, running up to Ratigan and even tugging on his cape. "Boss! It's Basil sir! Basil's –"

But Ratigan's mind was elsewhere.

"No!" he told Cookie. "This is NOT possible! Yes, the bastard may have eyes like Terra, but Basil is most definitely NOT a woman."

Cookie was not intimidated. "Have you checked?"

The rat became absolutely livid. "Of course I haven't bloody checked! What the hell you do you take me for? A rabbit in heat?"

"But Basil!"

Midget never had a chance. "Shut it, bat boy, you're in enough trouble as it is and I'll deal with you later." Ratigan threatened, pulling his cape out of the bat's hold. "Mole, I trusted you all these years to be a good judge of character, but I know my enemy far better then you do and trust me when I say that there is no possible way for Basil to be what you think he is. Because, Cookie, Basil is –"

"Is not breathing!"

Midget's outburst, one most of the people in that room would have ignored altogether, had the greatest impact imaginable. Everything seamed to stop, silence was now supreme… until Ratigan finally recovered from the shock.

"WHAT?" And though it did little to no help at the moment, most of his henchmen would later claim that his cry of incredulity could be heard all the way down to Buckingham Palace.

"Me went check on Midget and me found him running to get yous." Fidget began, yet Ratigan was long out the door, Midget taking flight and off in hot pursuit. With a cry of "Wait for me!" he too was running. Cookie was about to leave too when a gasp that seemed to come from within the walls captured his attention.

In the meantime however, Ratigan ran faster then he believed was possible. Midget was screaming after him, telling him that one minute everything was fine, then Basil started coughing, had a heard time getting air in and then simply stopped breathing altogether. But Ratigan wasn't really listening. The pipsqueak just ran himself to the ground; that was it. Basil never took his health seriously, and Cookie was just imagining things. He… just choked or something. It was nothing else. Nothing else at all. Basil was not… Basil was NOT… Cookie was mistaken. Cookie _must _be mistaken. He knew Basil for years and the detective had not shown any signs of _anything _that would indicate…

But if he was wrong… What if he was wrong and Cookie was right? Well, what if! He would just shoot a bullet trough the detective's head and be done with it! It was simple. All he had to do was ignore those blasted eyes…

All his places were forgotten at the sight which greeted him upon entering his private quarters. His body acted without thinking, his brain too numb to think, and Basil will never know that the cool, collected and often cruel Ratigan would even act on impulse.

But then again, she was a bit busy struggling to wake up…

_First thing Basil was aware of was that she was under water. She did not know how, but every single portion of her brain was telling her that. She could feel the water in her fur, feel it as she tried to move her hands, but she couldn't see it. It was too dark to see. Only a few flickers of light seemed to penetrate… These were very dark waters, she concluded, very dark waters indeed, and she found that she was being pulled in, deeper and deeper with each passing moment._

_She was drowning._

_Her self-preservation instincts now fully kicking in, she pushed her feet to paddle towards the surface, only to find that they wouldn't budge. She tried again. Nothing. It was like they were simply missing! But then she felt it, like a tug on her left foot, gentle at firth, then stronger, and stronger, and it was pulling her, deeper and deeper into the water. She started to panic._

**_Do not panic, little one. Let go and there will be no pain._**

_And there was that voice again! No. She tried to kick again, to head for the surface, to get out of these waters. But which way was up again? She did not even know how she got here! No, this was not real!_

**_No, no, no, my dear. You'll only make this harder on yourself. No, please, calm down, dearest. Trust me, I'll get you out. You only have to be here for only a little while…_**

_"Basil!"_

_No, no, no, no, no, no… Last time, that voice told her to fall asleep in the snow. She'd be damned if she listened to it now! _

**_Oh, no my dear. Don't think for one moment that I'm trying to harm you. Perish the thought! Now all those others… they don't deserve my protection. They're just… cheap copies, only shadows to chase on the water. _**

_This was a dream… This had to be a dream! This couldn't be real! But then, why didn't she wake up? And why did everything feel so real? Why wasn't she breathing! Dear gods! This was no dream!_

_"Come one, you annoying little pipsqueak! Breathe!" _

_Definitely not a dream. No, this was a nightmare! Why else would she be hearing Ratigan's voice?_

_"'Tective! Wake up! 'Tective!" _

_… But then, why was she hearing Midget's voice too. _

**_Ignore them, my dear. They're not real. Not like you and me, they're not… _**_Sure sounded real… **But they are not. Listen to me, my sweet, just stop struggling. Enjoy water… and earth… and fire…**_

_What the hell? The elements? And what of air? She needed air… But wait: she wasn't breathing, was she? Then… how was she still…_

_"Basil, so help me, if you die on me NOW I'm going to kill you!"_

_Die? No, she wasn't dying. She was waking up. This was all in her head. All she had to do was wake up… Reach out towards one of those small rays of light, rays that seem to glow brighter and brighter, and wake up! They were not moving like they seemed to be; she was. She only had to stop trashing around and… reach out._

Deciding on that one fact was the easy part. Opening her eyes was the hard one. They felt so heavy, as if they were made out of lead. But she was determined to do it. These creepy dreams could not be healthy for her, not when they seemed so damn real; because this _had _to be real. It was too damn strange to be anything else. Plus, if this wasn't a dream, then surely she would be asphyxiated by now…. Right?

That line of thought was rudely interrupted when the real world slowly came into focus. Her eyes could not see more then a great blur of color, yet her nose felt the smell of cologne, and she felt something being pressed to her lips. Frowning slightly, she forced her eyes to focus. The blur was getting clearer, she could see fur… gray fur… someone was hovering over her… She had her nostrils pinched shut and it was rather uncomfortable, but there was something even more so…

She froze, her eyes wide, and she found acting before her brain was even able to formulate a proper scenario. But that would be understandable, and it's like she was given much choice. After all, all she knew was that Ratigan was leaning over her… and was _bloody kissing her!_

_SMACK!_

"GUAAA! What's your blasted problem?" Ratigan cried, now seated a couple of feet away. "You almost dislocated my jaw, you miniature psychopath!"

Basil was ignoring him. In her book, trying to clear her mouth was a bit more important. "Rat drool! Yuck! This is disgusting!"

Back a couple of feet away, Ratigan felt his brain stop. This creature had stopped breathing almost inexplicably, was on the verge of death, and after he had taken the time to pump air back into those lungs… What the hell!

"I just saved your life, you ungrateful pipsqueak!" Ratigan hollered. "And that is all you're going to say?" Basil was still ignoring him, muttering things along the lines of 'will be scarred for life'.

In the meanwhile, Midget, Fidget and Thinker were watching the exchange in silent disbelief.

Just to cool down his murderous intentions, he tried a different approach: "Well you didn't have to hit me THAT hard!"

"Well what would you expect?" Basil shot back, finally giving him some attention. "You were hovering over me like some damn murdering lunatic! How else would you think I would react?"

_Count to ten man! _He tried to tell himself. _Count to ten and try to ignore the ungrateful bugger. It's not worth it. It's not worth it… It's just not… That's it! I'm going to murder him!_

"Basil, you fine?" Midget's question interrupted the forming of plans that would lead to the detective's ultimate demise. Also, a quite small bumblebee had positioned itself between the other two and himself. Said bee must have been reading his mind, for the look on its face clearly said 'I'd like to see you try.'

He cursed the seven heavens. Why he even bothered to save the damn fool, he didn't know! One thing was certain; he could not concentrate in this madness! And it certainly didn't help that his thoughts were constantly trailing back to the fact that he rather enjoyed the feeling of his lips on…

NO! That was forbidden territory! He refused to go there! He simply refused! This was not the proper way to think. Especially not when the subject was one cursed mouse going by the name of Basil! Yes, that's it! This was Basil, _not _Terra. He shouldn't confuse them. He would not confuse them! They weren't even all that similar to begin with. Terra was a kind, loving creature… Basil was the bane of his very existence! Terra he loves… Basil he despised! For the love of Terra's memory, Basil was _male _even! And Ratigan was rather certain that he did _not _swing that way!

… Could Cookie _really _be right?

He looked at Basil (still complaining about 'rat drool' from what he could determine) and tried to really see. Cookie must have noticed something, and he was half blind as it was. If he could see it, then so could he. Hopefully, it would have been a simple trick of the eye… But then he saw it: a slight curve here, a less manly voice there… Even on one's hands and knees Basil still seemed to hold a more 'feminine' air. Far too graceful for _any _man… And if he would look hard enough…

He too was seeing a ghost.

"Basil, what the hell are you?" There. He asked it. He just hoped this migraine wouldn't get worse because of it.

Basil seamed taken aback by the question. For once, he seemed to drop the theatrics, and second, he turned to watch him, a curious, yet skeptical expression on one's face. "What?" Basil asked, but Ratigan also heard the 'have you gone slightly senile, old _rat_?'

Ratigan decided that it was best to be blunt. "Are you ore are you not a man?"

Basil stared. "I'm a mouse." Ratigan felt the need to massage his temples. This was not working.

"Are you a woman?" Basil stared, eyes wide. "My cook seamed to have the fantastic idea that you were one. I'll admit that the idea simply fascinated me. It's not everyday that you get to hear such spectacular things." Basil's hands started shaking. "So, since you now know the reasons of my troubles, be a dear and strip."

"WHAT?" Well, at least he was sure the mouse was listening now. And now the pathetic creature looked even frightened. Now that felt nice… being feared again… But the bee that attempted to attack him didn't.

"You heard me, detective. Off with the drag. There's something I need to check."

The effect was instantaneous… and rather painful on his part. That lamp would certainly leave a bruise.

"What the hell?" Ratigan cried as various items were now heading his way. "Calm down already!"

"Stand back, you sick pervert!" Here came the collective worlds of William Shakespeare, rodent audition. How Basil managed to even lift the thing was a mystery for him.

"Who are you calling a pervert?" He now dodged the encyclopedia. "I may have murdered widows and orphans, but that does not qualify me as a pervert." Now he dodged a statuette. "And put that down!"

"No! And you stay back!" Ratigan sighted in exasperation. "I'm warning you Rats, using a chair to defend myself is by no means below my dignity. Now back!"

And the bastard sure sounded serious about this. Better try and get the situation back under control. Miserable pipsqueak or not, Basil still had a rather good aim, and that chair could do quite a lot of damage…

"Detective" he started, in the sweetest voice he could mutter "as much as I rejoice in seeing you break down and give into your animal urges, I'd appreciate it if you were to lower the chair and calm down… preferably before I lose my temper and shoot you! Ow! What in the –?"

He felt something kick him in the knee. Looking down, there stood Midget, the bee he so ungracefully shooed earlier sitting on his head. "You no hurt Basil!" The little bat said before Fidget had the chance to stop him. This was mutiny!

"Fidget! Get your cousin and that bee _out of my sight_! And you!" he turned back to Basil. "Cease this foolishness at once! You're behaving irrationally!" Basil had yet to move a muscle. "For heaven's, sake, man, you act as if I'm about to attack you or something. Oh I'll admit: I may daydream about your death on many occasions, but do use your head. Why would I go into so much trouble keeping you alive if I were to kill you afterwards? Not too practical of me, now is it? Now be a dear and put that down. HA!" Ratigan had taken his time to get closer to the slightly hysterical mouse, and using his voice as a distraction, grabbed her 'weapon', hoisting it out of her reach.

Shocked and angry with herself for not seeing past the rats tricks, Basil attempted to run, but ended up tripping on her bad leg. She prepared herself for the fall, for her body to connect to the floor's hard surface, but surprisingly enough, that did not happen. Instead, two strong arms caught her… one gripping a certain part of her body she _really _didn't want _anyone _to touch. She looked at Ratigan, whom for some reason had turned scarlet, and for a long time, could do nothing more then stare.

One could not say that the slap that soon came was not unexpected.

"Having problems, James?" Trust Cookie and his perfect timing. And what was that thing he held by the hand? No, sweet Jesus… This was too ridiculous to be happening. "I found this young lady hiding in my kitchen, even if she wasn't technically _in _the kitchen." This was not happening… "I wanted to ask what we were to do with her, but since you're already so busy…" He pointed at his now slowing cheek. The girl, the Flaversham kid if he remembered well, ran from the cook's side and practically jumped into Basil, clutching her middle section.

"Cookie, may I talk with you for a moment?" Ratigan asked with as much dignity as he could mutter. At Cookie's nod, he led the mole as far away from the others as possible. Trying very hard to ignore the glares Basil was still sending him, he whispered. "You were right, Cookie."

"I'm always right."

"Basil's… He's… He's a…"

"I know." But then Cookie frowned a little as something seamed to come to mind. "How did you get yourself convinced?" Cookie and Ratigan both turned to look at Basil, whom _still _was throwing daggers at Ratigan with hi – _her _eyes. Oh, if only looks could kill…

"That's not important right now. Let's just say that I know, for sure. But what is important right now is this: what are we going to do?" Cookie smiled.

"I think the question is more like what are you going to do?" Ratigan's jaw fell. "Well, I'm just a poor cook; you're the leader of this operation so the decision should be yours."

Ratigan bit down on what he was about to say. The old mole did have a point. He looked at Basil once again. Putting a bullet through that head would be very easy indeed. The detective was fully out of her element and… He had no guarantee that Basil had anything to do with this.

"Basil looks… a lot like Terra, Cookie... But it may very well be a coincidence."

"But what if it's not?"

He snarled. "Then I'll do what needs to be done. Now, you take this problematic meddler out of here and let me look over our records. Keep Basil occupied, but just to be on the safe side, don't let her sleep. He might be whispering tonight."

"And the child?"

"Do what you wish!" he shouted before storming out of the room, not caring in the slightest about the odd looks the other occupants of the room where giving him. The archives were calling him after all. And going trough his criminal archives, searching up names and dates was never one of his favorite past-time occupations. There were always so many, sometimes too many… And Terra's file was always the last one he liked to look.

Let's see… McCarter? No, too far off… Fay, Fel- Flaps! There it was. Flaps. Yes, that was Terra's file. Or at least, her family's file… All dead.

Oh, don' get him wrong. He was not a stranger to death. Not one for decades. But also, Ratigan was not always a mad murdering psychopath. No. Once, long ago, he was a teacher. Teaching people what his calling, transforming them into the country's new idols. And he had loved once, long, long ago – he loved, and liked to think that he was loved back…

Now over 200 years ago…

_"Welcome to England, James!" he had said to himself when the ship docked. Life in Ireland was a hard one back in the 1660's, especially when one chose to become a scholar. Irish people didn't hold much respect for educated people, at least not outside the major cities. And also, they didn't seem to hold much regard for educated _rats _for that matter ether. Ever since the spreading of the Bubonic plague all around Europe, rats had become outcasts, parasites of the rodent society (and human one as well), everyone thinking them responsible for it. So of course, finding work was becoming particularly difficult. _

_He had hoped that traveling to England would have helped. Rumor went that they saw scholars in a different light, that they were searching for progress, innovation, and maybe – just maybe – if he were to impress them, then maybe they could overlook the fact that he was a rat._

_He was right… to some extent._

_Finding work proved itself to be remarkably easy. Rich mothers and fathers were always on the look-out for capable teachers to transform their offerings into respectable members of society. Of course, they were not ones to wish for their children to learn profound literature or mathematical equations – exact sciences were not pleasant materials for most… but he was asked to teach them arts: how to play an instrument, how to paint and how to sing, things he (thank God) also knew. _

_But despite all that, his fee was not always as impressive as he would have hopped, and more often then not, he would find himself unable to pay his landlord. That was pretty much what happened that faithful night, in the beginning of winter 1664, when he met young Terra Flaps._

_Terra was not a particularly beautiful woman, not even by lower class standards, but she was stubborn, determined, perceptive, and as he later came to learn, a girl brighter than even the wisest of scholars. She could tell the difference between a butcher and a baker when they were dressed in their Sunday best, could tell who was seeing who and where they went by just looking at them, and she could tell that he needed a room to stay, and a room to stay she gave him. She asked no pay. Her grandfather earned a decent living as a baker, like her family did for generations, and she needed little more to get by. All she asked of him was to teach her – teach her everything he knew and more, for he had soon found that she was also a curious little creature._

_In two years time, Ratigan had come to realize that Terra was indeed a unique woman – one of a kind in practically everything. She absorbed all the information he was giving her like a sponge would absorb water. She was brave, and strong, and smart, and beautiful in her own simple way, yet alone because of her eccentrics… and also, he found that he loved her, and for some reason, he knew that she must have loved him back._

_He promised to always be with her, and to protect her – now and forever. Not because she needed it, but because she deserved it._

_Things have never been better for him, and in the summer of 1666, he was offered a desk at University of Oxford. Terra urged him to go, to become a real professor, to teach real smart children how to be even smarter, that he could come and visit when he wished. _

_For the first time, he regretted listening to her. _

_He knew for months that Terra had fallen ill for some time now, yet he listened. He knew that more then enough mice were being murdered in London, yet he agreed to go. He knew he shouldn't have agreed, yet he did, and by the time he was at the gates of Oxford, he heard of the 'evacuation'. _

_The situation in London had taken a turn for the worse, and he cursed himself. Why did he not bring Terra and her grandfather with him? Why couldn't he foresee such an outcome? How could he have been so naïve?_

_The road back to London suddenly seemed so long… and he arrived too late._

"Damn you... You and all of your kind!" Ratigan chanted, recalling Terra's last words to him… "I shall not kill you, I shall not even hurt you. You will be the only rat leaving this city unscathed, but for your betrayal, for your... audacity! I will curse you with the life of every single one of your kind you will now leave to die!" The words had stuck with him and no amount of time would make him forget them. Later he learned it was because of the curse she had bestowed upon him that night, but he doubted he would ever forget even if it weren't for that.

"Forgiveness and compassion will give you death" Were her very last words to him and he had lived his life from that point on with those words ringing in his ears. One, lone tear fell from his eye. He quickly brushed it off, and looked at the documents in his hands. There were so many names on that list, so many names of people that had to die, just so they couldn't suffer the same end such as his dear Terra. So many deaths… so many young women, all of the same blood with his beloved… they all had to die. The Flaps in Sussex, then the stray sheep that married with an Alvey… They had them all.

Who could they have overlooked?

Then a file caught his eye. It was dated now almost 13 years ago. If memory served him right then that was around the time he, Cookie and Becky were on their last searching party. The names of one Elisabeth Basil nee Tops and youngest daughter Brynna Basil were on it. And near the child's name, was a notice.

"Twins?" Ratigan read out loud. "Brynna Basil, sister of… Sherrignford Basil? But isn't that…?"

He looked back on all that had happened mere hours ago (gods, had it been _that _long already?). Basil falling unconscious … not breathing… yet even after such he-… _she _refused to break down, protected herself against him… He tried to lie to himself earlier, did his best to ignore just how much his enemy was like his beloved, tried to convince himself that this was just a trick of his eyes, that it was just a coincidence.

But he couldn't believe that anymore… not when the answer was right in front of him. The blasted devil who made Terra's life a living hell right under his nose was back, all because he made a mistake, all because he had been soft that once… Gods, he remembered that night! He remembered being there, and he remembered the child he had left without a mother and a sister… that be, without a brother. Was that really Basil?

It was settled then. Basil _had _to die before that bastard's whispers became too intense, before she could give in. But how could he do it. How could he kill someone who looked so much like his Terra? It never was a problem before though…

_"__I truly believe that you should tell your detective about this"_

"No Cookie…" he said at last. "This is one piece of advice I can't take. It's not like I could tell her all _that_…" But something needed to be done, but what? Then, it hit him. "I must talk to Becky."

But then how do you find a Hungarian red squirrel with a French accent in the middle of London when the wretched creature didn't _want _to be found?

* * *

**Now beta-read by the wonderful _Crazy Laughter _!You're awesome!**

* * *

_And just because I love you all, think of you as some of the most awesome people on this planet and I feel awfully bad for missing yesterday's update AND because this chapter must be full of grammatical errors, this chapter is extra long with extra goodies and extra info! Now, I am awaiting your take on it. What will happen next? What will Ratigan do? And do you know who "Becky" is? (and come on, that's an easy one!) And to keep author from falling into writer's block again, I NEED YOU OPINIONS! _

_For the answers to these questions and more, stay toned for the next update!_

_Reviews are - as always - welcomed and greatly appreciated!_


	15. Chapter fourteen

**_Whispers in the Dark_**

**Chapter fourteen**

She was, without a doubt, the biggest idiot that had ever cast a shadow on the face of the damned planet!

How could she drop her guard like that? What possessed her to freeze like that all of the sudden? She should have just called the rat crazy to his face, distract him with random insults and pray that he would forget about it like he was supposed to! And what did she do? She gave herself away… Basil gave herself away in the worse way possible. If she wouldn't have panicked then, maybe things could be even the slightest bit better for her, but no, she had to freak out and expose herself, to have Ratigan right… She shuttered at the thought.

How did she even get herself into such a situation? She was always careful. She was _always _careful – so what happened this time? How did that mole see trough her disguise? And why didn't she do anything to prevent him from telling his boss something? Why did she not see this coming? What happened to the normally calculating and ever so careful Basil?

"Fancy a bit of tea, dear?"

Basil wanted to hurt herself… as in really, _really_, hurt herself. Like bash her head against a wall, pull out all her fur, cut her tail even, do whatever it would serve as a suitable punishment for being such a complete and otherwise ultimate fool. And a fool she was, for she _knew _she could have done better! Her honor had just been flushed down the drain; her whole life had been ruined thanks to one small _stupid _mistake on her part. She might as well have not have been born with a brain. What use is the organ to one who doesn't use it!

Remembering that someone was asking her something about tea, she shakes her head. She really wasn't much in the mood for tea.

"Are you sure? You don't look too well to me, love. Come on, I'm sure a little bit of home-made tea will bring some life back into you."

Idly, she could hear Cookie busying himself, speaking random nonsense about the miraculous properties of some herbs and other such trifles, but other than that, she felt her mind go blank. A small part of her mind, the one that seamed to still be functioning, was wondering why Cookie was troubling himself so much on her account.

Especially since he had been doing so for the past three days.

She put her head in her hands, not bothering to notice the blanket that was tossed over her shoulders, nor the light bundle of something that was placed on her head. Usually, she would have taken note of that, or at least would have bothered to notice that these things tended to happen a bit too often lately. But then, she didn't much notice many a' things these days.

But not noticing many a' things doesn't mean she noticed nothing.

For example, on Monday, just after the little… _illumination _Ratigan had concerning her body structure, Basil lasted just as long as to plead with Cookie to spare Olivia and to let her stay by her side before simply breaking down. The stress of the past few hours had simply been too much to bear. Too many things happening at once, too many problems that needed solving and to top all that, Ratigan just had to drop the bomb! She was just too tired to think anymore and wanted nothing more than to be alone – or better yet – die a quick and painless death.

But alas, the children would have none of that.

_"Mr. Bumbles' name is 'Thinker'?" Young Miss Flaversham asked just after basil had used the bee's name. "Why didn't you tell me anything, Mr. Bumbles?" Basil simply blinked and felt Thinker, who had once again positioned itself on her head, let out something that sounded more or less like a groan. _

_"Probably because she's a bee and thus can't talk like we do, and also maybe because somebody didn't quite pause and listen to her properly" She could feel Thinker nodding vigorously, almost happily, from its spot on her head. Olivia's mouth had formed a perfect 'O' during her explanation and while the little girl started muttering apologies to the bee, Basil felt she was ready to get back to sulking. _

_"T-'tective?" That is, until Midget decided to occupy the spotlight. "Just wha' happened? Why did ya' slap Boss back there? I's mean -"_

_"Because the bloody bastard deserved it and that will be all I'm going to say on the matter." Basil barked back with such venom Midget immediately ducked back. Almost as if he was sensing the sudden change of mood, Cookie took this moment to appear with a steaming cup of tea and some cookies (where he got those, Basil had no idea)._

And the night carried on in much the same fashion. She would try to shake off their questions as much as possible, often pretending she did not hear them at all. But then there were some matter that, despite any 'black mood' that would take hold of her, she could not let go – certain topics especially.

_"So… Is it true?" the little girl asked, looking at Basil with interest. Basil merely quirked an eyebrow in response, it's not like the little Miss Flangerbanger was that dim. There had been any questions she asked in the last couple of hours, but none quite that ambiguous._

_"What is? That Ratigan is a bastard or that I used a bad word? I can assure you that both are." A cough. "And Midget, do close your mouth or at least swallow before gapping."_

_"But that's not it. What I'm asking is…" Olivia began toying with her scarf, awkwardly avoiding Basil's sharp yet curious gaze. "That you're not…" she paused to lick her lips. "What I mean is that you really are a lass?"_

Basil dared smile at the memory. That girl could have just as well asked her where babies came from and it would have been less embarrassing! (Not that she would be willing to answer that ether).

_"Was a lass?" Midget asked seconds after, looking between Basil and Olivia, clearly confused at the new term. Basil placed a hand over her eyes. She was not made for this._

_"It means 'girl'." Olivia was soon to answer in an 'isn't that obvious' kind of tone. "Didn't anyone tell you that?" _

_"No." Midget was quick to defend himself. It wasn't his fault he never head that word before. He turned back to Basil. "So, that makes you a girl?"_

_Basil slowly nodded her head, not trusting her voice to let anything out right now. This was so terribly embarrassing… A lifelong career flushed down the canal! Oh, she could never be able to lift her head back up after this… Why didn't she listen to Vole and Clawes?_

_"Wicked!"_

_Why did she… Wait, what? "I beg your pardon?" _

_Basil half expected that she heard wrong, that maybe the collected exclamation that came from the mouths of both children was merely a fragment of her imagination. She looked at the children. They were both smiling, admiration being clearly written in their eyes. _

_Olivia was soon to voice her deductions. "We said 'wicked' Basil! Because that's just how it is! Oh, wait till I tell my teacher!" She clapped her hands in excitement. "On career class she said that I couldn't be like you because I was a girl, and girls are not to manly things, whatever that means. Now we see who's an ignoramus!" _

_Wide eyed, Basil turned to Midget who too, began to explain his reaction. "Me's no know what teacher is, but you are brilliant 'tective!" He exclaimed and flew up, landing on her lap (much to Basil's further bewilderment). "You's smart and girl. Me dad said nobody be smart and girl." There was a distinctive 'hey' from Olivia here. "'E said, 'if you find girl who's smart', 'e said, 'you prove me wrong and I give you shilling'. Dad now owe me shilling!" He cried out happily – maybe too happily. Basil supposed that the little guy had no idea what a shilling actually was. But then he frowned and seamed to be looking for something on Basil's face, something he didn't seem to find. _

_"…What?" Basil asked, feeling terribly uncomfortable with a child staring at her like that._

_"You's no look like girl much though. You's sure you's girl?" God give her strength!_

_"Yes, I am rather sure I am one." Better try and give a smile, no matter how fake and strained it would come out. Children can hardly notice the difference. "Now if you please…" Balancing the tea cup in one hand, she used the other to gently shove the little bat off of her lap, making him fall beside her on the couch._

It was a memorable night, that Monday night. Never before could she remember spending so much time with children, nor their annoying questions. Bless those little creatures though. With all their chatter they managed to chase away some of the darkness. By the time they were shooed to bed by a very stern-looking Cookie (though that only made him look funnier) she could once again smile.

_"Children are often the best remedy for everything." Cookie had told her just after the little ones had gone to sleep. "I almost miss the times when I used to see them every day… maybe that is why I enjoy little Midget's company so much."_

_She had spoken before thinking. "I imagine that during your days as a priest you used to see them every day."_

At the memory of what followed afterwards, Basil almost laughed. She couldn't quite remember someone being that insistent to know how she did her little trick. To tell the truth, she herself was surprised she somehow managed to deduce that. It was like some part of her mind was flowing away as usual without her knowledge.

_"Very well, then! I'll say." She eventually cried out in annoyance. "You may dress like a cook and act like a jester, but you are kinder then most of Ratigan's tugs and you still manage to earn his respect despite your kitchen duties. It was clear to deduce from that that you have earned that respect for your intellectual capacities rather then your strength. But not just any kind of intellectual, but one who was good with people and the way they think. A simple scholar or book writer could not impress Ratigan that much so I immediately deduced: teacher or priest. A teacher sounded most convenient given the fact that at one moment Ratigan too was one himself, but usually teachers have pride and you wouldn't have been so happy to work in a kitchen, nor would any collage give you a proper degree nor hire you with that terrible eyesight, even if you do see things a proper seeing person would not. And then there was the tea and cookie and I know no teacher who would bother himself with such things so there could be only one answer: a priest. But not a catholic priest, yet still a Christian one so I'll say orthodox." She dipped her finger in the tea then brought it to her tongue. "And you're not British. You come from central Europe. I'm guessing a Baltic country… no, more likely something more lain. Probably Romania."_

_For a full minute, time in which Basil took her time to check her tea for any unknown substances (it would have been her fourth cup that evening, and the forth that she would have inspected), Cookie was left speechless. _

_"That… was incredible." Cookie said at long last. By this time Basil had determined the tea was perfectly harmless and was sipping contently at the contents of the cup. "But… how did you know I was not British? Or Catholic for that matter? "_

_She swallowed before replying. "Your accent. You speak too good an English to be one, and far more melodious then most. Obviously, Latin traits but at the same time there is a slight Russian ring to it – probably a Slav influence as well – Carpathian. Also, judging by how warm it's in here, you are used to a much warmer climate so you must have also come from somewhere close to the Balkans. Only country that came to mind: Romania. Ah, and yes, then there was the tea. Limeflower is not exactly common in Great Britain and even if it were you'd have to first know how to about it's properties. And speaking of which, this is indeed very good." She paused for another slip of tea. "But no matter. Was I right?"_

_For a moment, Cookie looked slightly confused, as if he was not certain if what he was seeing and hearing was truly true. But then his eyes started sparkling. He smiled, slowly stated to giggle quietly then, suddenly, threw his head back and laughed._

_"I've lived in this country a great many a' years, and in that time I have met a great deal of people. But not once had I ever been so deeply impressed by a lass – or lad. Not even James could have read me that well. Not when we first met, nor even now, I wager!" He barely managed to say between laughs. "But yes – to answer your question – I'll say 'yes'. You were right to a 't', that you were. Exact cum trebuia sa fii, aş zice! (1)" With that, he patted her shoulder fondly and (still laughing) excused himself (something concerning muffins). She still wasn't sure if he tripped over that broom by accident or not._

She giggled out loud, causing the bundle on her head shift and buzz.

That night she noticed that Cookie was, despite his position as mere cook, a highly respected individual among Ratigan's mostly brainless tugs. Nobody dared protest when he insisted she be moved from her previous room to one a bit closer to the kitchen.

But how Cookie ended up working for such an arse as Ratigan will forever puzzle her. He was a silly creature, but not in the annoying sort of way. He had this remarkable ability to brighten her mood no matter the circumstances and could actually hold a decent conversation with her on almost any subject. That last fact was proven when he chatted with her long into the night… Or was it morning?

When Tuesday came around, she found that despite a sleepless night and possible overdose of limeflower tea she was feeling better then the night before. Much as the night before, Cookie and the children would keep her company, chatting away with her on various subjects. Midget and Olivia seamed to have developed some form of friendship like most children their age would and would cease bothering her at random moments at the day so they could play or joke or whatever they would do. Basil had nothing against that. She was still angry with herself for the events of the previous day, but somehow, the big blow to her pride and honor seamed to hurt less. Even her leg stopped hurting quite as much as before, but she was still tired and not brave enough to fall asleep yet.

She knew that sooner or later Ratigan would come and confront her. It was in the rat's nature, so despite how happy she was for not having to spend time in the company of that brute, each moment that passed made her more and more restless. Cookie may have some authority over his tugs and some influence over him, but Ratigan was still Ratigan, and she wasn't looking forward to the time when he would let lose the feelings from inside. She still wasn't fully healed after the Big Ben chase all those months back.

Sometime during their five o'clock tea she though she caught a glimpse of a black and red cape rushing past the kitchen door, but just before she could be certain, it disappeared. So overall, most of the day had been spent dozing away in a chair and half-heartedly watched Olivia and Midget play silly games.

By nightfall, she was worried. Her mind had once again started to put two and two back together again and she did not like the conclusions she was reaching. A few disturbing things had come to her attention during their afternoon's tea, around the time when the children wanted for some odd reason to spend some time with her.

_"It may be just me, but aren't you two taking this news a bit too lightly?" She asked most seriously. She found it odd that the two of them still seemed to be so open with her after yesterday's big news. Normally, she would have imagined that they would feel betrayal, disgust even, but they were acting as if nothing had ever happened. _

_The children just stared at her. "Never mind." She was never going to understand children. _

_"'Tective, ya' know I not know many thing, but I was wonder– OUCH! What's that?" Midget had only tried to settle himself better when he accidentally touched something that was sticking out of Olivia's pocket. Whatever it was, it hurt, and Midget instantly jumped back on Basil's lap, starling the detective out of her wits (and almost making her spill the hot tea all over her). _

_"Midget! Had your mother never taught you that jumping on someone when they are in the middle of something is most rude?" It was her lifelong belief that mothers and fathers are supposed to be the ones to oversee the education their offspring, but right then she was willing to forget that one detail and scold the little terror till next week. _

_"But it stung!" Was Midget's wailing response as he clutched to her middle-section, hiding his head from view. Basil rolled her eyes._

_"Miss Flambercamp, please enlighten me as to what exactly happened here." She pointed at the still sniveling Midget. Olivia shrugged for a moment until she appeared to be remembering something. She dug into her pocket and took out something that resembled a bee stinger._

_"He must have stepped on these!" She said, showing the stingers to the female detective. "They are wasp stingers. Mr- I mean, Thinker and I went looking for some wasp hives after we saw the spider marks in the snow. Wasps are the only things they fear after all so I thought –"_

_"Wow, wait a second, my dear." Basil exclaimed, placing the cup of tea down on the sofa's arm. If Midget would keep fidgeting in her lap chances were that there would be no cup by the end of this conversation. "Just what are you talking about? Start from the beginning to end."_

Blushing, Olivia told the detective everything that happened since Thinker came bursting into 221B trough the stove, and although she'd rather die then admit it, Basil was downright impressed with the little girl. Few would be able to tell the difference between spider marks and normal water drop marks in the snow, fewer still to determine the kind of spider that would make those marks, and even fewer to think of arming themselves with wasp stingers in the events of ever meeting up with a tarantula. Maybe there was a detective buried in there somewhere after all… if the child would cease being even more reckless then she was.

_"I do hope you know that although the stinger idea was very clever –" she picked one up and examined it for a brief moment "– it was also very foolish of you to wonder off alone at the beginning of winter with a murderer on the loose, looking for another murderer with no real plan or back-up. And no, one bee –" she pointed at a sulking Thinker that was still seated on top of her head "– doesn't count as back-up."_

_Olivia's ears fell flat on her head. "I'm sorry, Basil… but the others just weren't listening! I kept telling and they wouldn't listen!"_

_"Nether were you." Basil pointed out. Picking up Midget from her lap, she held him at arm's length for a moment, gave him a look then settled him back on the sofa beside Olivia before once again turning to address the little girl. "You, my dear, lack patience and are reckless in your actions. Normally, I wouldn't much mind that seeing as I'm mostly the same, but unlike you, I have experience in this sort of things and I usually tend to plan ahead of time. Not to mention that I usually am aware of what I am getting myself into. Per example: when I decided to give myself up to Ratigan to escape Dawson, I knew who I was dealing with, for I know Ratigan and know what to expect from him. You, and the other hand, don't, and I hope you never will, for this here is dangerous business."_

_Olivia looked just about ready to cry, with tears building up in her big sea-blue eyes… and Basil started to feel guilty for being the one who actually put those tears there. There, that was why she didn't agree to the scolding of other people's children._

_"Now, now, Miss Flamshore –"_

_"It's Flaversham…"_

_"Whatever!" Basil exclaimed in such a comical fashion Midget couldn't help the giggle that escaped him, nor could Olivia hide a smile. "I am not scolding you because I like to, but because you need to know how foolish your stunt was. Did you ever pause to think what your father would have done if some ill would have befallen upon you? Did you ever think how I would feel, knowing you exposed yourself to such danger because of me?" By the time she finished her speech, Basil had gripped her shoulders, forging the child to look straight into her eyes. _

_"I'm sorry Basil…" Olivia bowed her head, trying to avoid the detective's eyes. "I just wanted to be like you."_

_"Perish the thought child!" Basil cried, appearing horrified at the idea. "I daresay London is not prepared for another me running about. It might be the end of Mousedom as we know it!" She paused for a moment, then added as an afterthought: "Or if not it might be the end of Vole as we know him." That made Olivia giggle. "But seriously child, leave these grown-up things to grown-ups. You'll have enough time to get in trouble and start courting death soon enough. For the moment though, please refrain yourself from making us grow gray fur. Half of us are old enough is it is."_

_"Are you mad at me, Basil?" Olivia asked, once again fidgeting with her scarf. _

_The detective puffed. "I should, but I know better then to blame a child for not thinking. Many grown mice don't think, after all. Who I am mad at right now…" She had to end it there, for another coughing fit took over, making her whole body shake._

_Midget, unable to stop his curiosity, dared use that moment to ask: "Is she in trouble though?" _

_"Oh, that she is." Basil replied after she regained her breath. She paused to clear her throat before continuing: "But I'm not her mother to punish her for it, just as I can't punish you if you ever done something wrong. It is not my responsibility nor would it be right for me to do so." She cleared her voice again. "If you ask me there should be a law to stop people from attempting to punish children they are not in charge of."_

The conversation carried on like that for a long while afterwards, but Basil kept thinking about the implications. No matter her status at the moment, she was still a detective and she had a job to do. Vole and Clawes were counting on her, but most importantly, this was something she needed to do to save herself from insanity.

That night she thought hard, analyzing the situation from all corners. Around daybreak, the puzzle had finally started to take shape. Still, the key-peaces were still missing and without them it was dangerous to try and speculate. Basil didn't want to end up with a 'demon theory' again. She didn't even believe in them.

Speculation aside, she tried to sort the date as well as mousely possible. The inspectors would need some solid evidence after two nights in which she send Thinker with only a 'still alive' message for the two.

Now it was precisely thirteen minutes to seven in the evening, the children where playing another odd game of theirs and Cookie had just fetched another cup of limeflower tea for her. She thanked him as he excused himself (something concerning another batch of muffins) and watched her reflection in the steaming cup.

To sum it all up: she looked like a mess. Her eyes were red and baggy and her fur seamed to have lost its shine. _That's what three days of no rest, stress, self-pithy and worry would do to you, Sher… _she tried to tell herself, but that was a lie. All those things alone could not have had such an effect on her. Not even her cursed black moods would wear her off like that.

She coughed for what felt like the thousandth time the past hour and could no longer ignore the fact that maybe she was sick. And Thinker certainly wasn't helping.

"Thinker…" she said, sending her eyes upwards and catching a glimpse of yellow. "Do cease your fidgeting. I have enough troubles without you dancing on my head." The bundle on her head instantly went still. "Thank you."

With that, she wrapped the blanket tighter (everything seemed so cold these last few days) around her and looked back at the children. Any kind of distraction now would be a good distraction.

At exactly seven minutes to seven, Ratigan barged into the kitchen muttering bloody murder, startling all its occupants. Cookie dropped a plate that was full of muffins and the teacup Basil held fell from her hand, shattering into many tiny peaces as it came in contact with the floor. The children hid themselves somewhere.

"James P. Ratigan! You ruined my muffins!" Cookie scolded the instant the large rodent took a seat at the table, opposite Basil, still not quite finished muttering profanities. As he did so, he pulled off some papers from his inside pocked and proceeded by glaring at them.

She started to shake. It didn't take a genius to deduce that he was in a _very _bad mood…

"I do hope you have a serious reason for barging in my kitchen like that, young man. Especially after disappearing on us like that for three days." Cookie reproached. Ratigan growled and looked like he wanted to murder something. Basil merely wanted to become invisible. If she could just slide down slowly… Oh, no! She felt another cough coming! "I'll have you know that making muffins is not as easy as it seems and furthermore –"

"Screw your muffins!" Ratigan cried suddenly, jumping to his feet and immediately trusting the papers into the cook's face. "I searched the whole city from top to bottom -" Basil swallowed her first cough " - went and asked all my sources –" she held her breath when she felt the second one coming "- I even went and asked that Silverson (2) fellow. But she's nowhere to be found, mole. She _vanished_!"

Basil couldn't help it any more. She coughed, the force of it shaking her tired body. In the middle of it, she dared look up at Ratigan, fearing the worse. She may be brave, but even she wouldn't dare tick off an already angry rat. To her immense surprise and ease, he merely looked at her - scowled more likely – then turned back to the mole and motioned to the door. _Thank the Lord…_though Basil as the door closed.

It was then that Thinker flew up on her lap and watched her with big, frightened eyes. It tried to find a way to help, find a way to make its new queen feel better. Basil knew that the little bee's been worried about her, it was hard not to when all it did was hover around her. By the time she could finally breathe again Thinker was close to panicking and Basil had an aching throat.

The children had, in the meanwhile, emerged from their hiding place. Olivia quickly set out to bring her a glass of water. Midget on the other hand, rushed to the door to be certain nobody came in. Apparently the little guy learned something since when she told them about spying techniques.

"Feeling better, Basil?" Olivia asked, handing her the glass. She nodded before taking a sip. It _stung _like a moth -

"Miss B.?" That was Midget. "You best come hear this."

With a sigh, Basil rose to her feet and with Olivia's help, marched the small distance to the door. Following the bat's example, she pressed an ear to the door and listened.

"Why do you even bother to seek her out is beyond me, James." That could only be Cookie. "You have always been the one to make the decisions for us."

"But never without seeking counsel from you two first." And that could only be Ratigan. "There are too many implications… And plus, you said so yourself that this is a tricky business. Eradication hasn't brought us anywhere. Look around! The bastard is back and not only so: he's back with a vengeance! We need to ask that damn woman's opinion."

"I still think you should tell our guest about Terra."

"And I still think you're mad."

"James, listen to me: it's more to her then you think. I believe that she could really help you. Don't scowl at me! I watched that girl for three days. I think I know what I'm saying. She's a bright, open-minded young lady and I'm sure she would understand. You just need to give her a chance."

_Now this was certainly getting interesting _the detective in her said. And it would have been so had she not realized that the cook was talking about _her!_

The next moment something hit the door, startling the ones overhearing. Scrambling to get back into position, the children, detective and bee almost fell upon one another. Olivia would have screamed and Basil would have broken her already weak leg – that was certain – had Midget not taken flight in a last moment and caught one of them by their clothes.

In the meantime, Ratigan was pacing outside the kitchen, Cookie watching.

Three days… Three bloody days wasted for no apparent reason. That pesky squirrel was never there when you needed her but always there when you didn't need her! Though maybe he should have suspected that this should be the case after their last interaction.

_"I never want to see you or hear from you and your pet mole ever again, you pathetic excuse for a living creature!"_

Yes, it's true that they haven't parted in the friendliest of terms.

Cookie was shaking his head. "Must you always be so stubborn?"

"Mole, I am now ignoring you!" Ratigan snapped, resuming his pacing.

"Ignore all you want but that does not change the fact that you are acting like an overgrown child!" He was still ignoring him. "I've known you for over thirty years now and you still refuse to listen to anyone other then yourself." He still did it. "I just want to know what harm could it do if you'd just speak with her. You know, start with small chat and all that. You might get to actually know her, and maybe then you would actually believe me when I say that she would be the one." Ignoring! "Would it hurt so much to listen to me just this once, James?"

That did it.

For the second time that day he burst in the kitchen, slamming the door shut behind him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw two faces duck back in a cabinet and he needed to resist the urge to growl. He hated children. He'll have to think of a way to get rid of those two soon. Maybe Felicia could help there. She hasn't eaten anything tasty in weeks. And children were most tasty.

Of course, he would have to be sure Fidget didn't find out. He did kind of promise that night when he came begging to spare his cousin's life that he wouldn't lay a finger on the pathetic creature. But right now, back to priorities. Where was the cheeky little… Ah, there he – oh, make that _she – _was, right where he left her. She looked nervous. Hard to determine if that was a good sign.

With confidence, he marched over to the seat opposite her. She swallowed hard.

Oh, yes – she must have overheard part of his conversation with Cookie. So let's say nervousness equals 'good sign' for now. He smiled.

"Good evening, detective." He addressed her sweetly (though he did glance around if there were any sharp object in her immediate vicinity – it was best to avoid another scene). "I trust my cook had been a good host so far?"

Basils nodded hurriedly, then seamed to realize what she was doing and said: "Yes. He has."

Ratigan nodded, apparently pleased by the answer and got to his feet, the perfect image of grace. "I must offer my apologies for the way we have treated you in the past. Had we were aware that we were dealing with a lady we would have offered you better living conditions from the very start. We are not brutes, you know." He paused to open a drawer.

"I hardly see how it matters now." Was her response.

"Ah! Tut-tut, detective." He tisked. "I am the prime host here and it is my responsibility to make my guests feel welcome. And I fear that you may not have felt quite so welcome." Basil almost didn't catch herself from rolling her eyes. "Also, I must apologies for that… little event now three days ago. But you must understand that given the circumstances, well… I'll just cut it short and admit that I had no idea you were a woman."

… A sorry Ratigan was stranger and far creepier then a mad Ratigan… of that Basil was now certain.

"You needn't apologies for that. I… realized I had been over-reacting…" Ratigan may or may have not heard her judging by how he was browsing trough the contents of that drawer. Basil frowned, but chose to say nothing on the matter yet. "After all, I can't really blame–"

"Aha! Here we are!" Ratigan cried with triumph as he extracted something from the drawer. It seemed to resemble a chess board. "Do you play chess detective?" Apparently it really was a chess board. It didn't change the fact that it still confused Basil.

Ratigan chuckled at mouse's vacant gaze. Taking a seat back opposite her, he proceeded to take out the chess peaces from the box and promptly arranged them on the board.

Basil frowned. "Ratigan… what are –"

"It has occurred to me" the rat started "that I know close to nothing about you." He sniffed, looking lazily at the white queen. "Also, given recent events, I am certain that you have a lot of questions for me. So, in the noble tradition of our forefathers, why don't we settle this down over a nice game of chess?"

Basil was still lost.

"Apparently you are not common with this tradition. Never threat, a person cannot be judged by his or her lack of knowledge, merely for his or her lack of use of what he or she knows." The pieces were now all in place. "There we are. Now, I'll tell you how this goes. In the darker days when two intellectuals would meet at Oxford they would undoubtedly wish to test each other. But simple talk had proved itself to be pointless. One may speak the truth or speak a lie, more or less how we've been doing for the last couple of years." He chuckled again. "But under a game of chess one would also learn how the other mind's works, so even if the person would lie, then you'd still learn something about him. Or her, nowadays. And I assure you, there are plenty things one can learn about another in a game of chess. What say you?"

It took Basil a while to figure out just what the rat was suggesting and even when she did, it sounded odd. Not like this didn't sound like Ratigan, mind you, but it didn't sound like something Ratigan would do with her.

She found herself agreeing once his smile started to fade.

"Marvelous!" Ratigan cried and clapped his hands enthusiastically. "So, you want to be white or black." She hesitated. "Oh, I see you're still new with this so I'll start." He turned the board so the white peaces were now facing him. "No let's see…" He thought for a moment before moving a pawn to E4.

"Standard move, I see." Basil commented, praying Ratigan wouldn't react violently. He didn't.

"True, but I believe that is how most things start in life. With a single small step." He pointed at his pawn. "Which brings us to the true purpose of the game: getting to know each other. Aham! I am Professor James P. Ratigan and my expertise lies in mathematics." He extended his hand to Basil, waiting. Hesitantly, she finally brought a shaky hand to shake his, much to the professor's glee.

"There, that wasn't so bad now, was it?" He purred, patting her hand with his other one. He then turned back at the board. "Your move."

Being a little more certain that Ratigan didn't wish to feed her to his cat just yet, she dared to copy her opponent's opening move, placing a black pawn at square E5.

"Standard move, I see." Ratigan said, chuckling with amusement. Basil shrugged.

"I only give as good as I get." Why did that sound dirty after she said it? Ratigan didn't seem to notice or wasn't petty enough to try and make her feel uncomfortable about it.

"_Touché_, detective. _Touché_." Bishop was moved to C4. "So, why did you chose to… erm… go out like you do?" He was obviously asking why she took to masquerading as a male. She could very well lie. Ratigan had no way to know if she was telling the truth. But at the same time…

"I guess it's easier that way." It was easier to go with a half-truth then a full lie. "Back in my house there was a saying: God made a mistake when they made me a girl and my brother a boy. In mind and personality at least. I loved to learn while my brother enjoyed creating. And I absolutely hated skirts and dresses." This earned a laugh from Ratigan.

"Oh, that's not a hard thing to picture, detective."

She shrugged. "I guess that it simply stuck to me afterwards. After all, with my wits, stubbornness and a name like 'Sherringford' I couldn't quite pass as much of a lady, now could I?"

At that Ratigan stared. "You mean to say that 'Sherringford' actually _is _your name?" She nodded. "Dear me! Talk about misfortune on your part."

"I learned to get used to it."

"So what do they call you then? I can't imagine that brother you spoke of wouldn't call you by such an impossibly long name all the time. A… pet-name perhaps?"

"He hasn't called me anything in a long time." She picked up her bishop and examined it for a while.

"Ohh… Had a bit of a fall-out then?"

"No. He just died." She placed her bishop on square C5.

Ratigan made face that at first glance would have made someone believe he was truly sorry to hear that. But Basil knew him better. "Ohh… I'm so sorry to hear that Basil…" The bastard already knew that. And if his intentions were anything like the ones he showed in his playing, then he had another thing coming. Two can make an attempt at a Scholar's mate. (3) But why end the game so quickly?

"It was a long time ago." She coughed. "But to answer your question, most would just call me Basil or 'nuisance' if we're here to discuss Detective Chief Inspector Vole's lovely relationship with me. But as long as I know they are addressing to me, people can call me whatever they wish."

"Including 'cupcake'?" Ratigan asked deviously, placing his queen on square H5.

Black pawn to H6. "Except 'cupcake'."

Ratigan grinned. "But that aside, I fear I have taken advantage of you. Here I am asking away while you are merely answering. Aham! Did you have a question for me?"

Basil thought for a moment. "What gave me away?"

"Gave wha–? Oh! The fact that you are a… Well, truth be told, there hasn't been something specific, so to say. Cookie is to blame. He can't see past the end of his nose yet he can see right through people. I… guess it's some sort of gift he has."

Why did she feel that he was letting things out? "And how about you? You're the most stubborn creature I know. Surely there must have been some kind of voice up there" she pointed at her head "that told you to listen. Because I know for a fact that you listen to no-one."

He quirked an eyebrow. "Oh really? Well, how could you possibly reach that conclusion?"

"Simple. Get your knight out of there."

He moved a pawn. "Don't change the subject, Basil. It doesn't become you."

Basil smirked. "I'm not." She then proceeded to capture his knight with the aid of a bishop. Ratigan stared. "I'm merely proving a point."

_So you have… _thought Ratigan with a scowl. He quickly brushed off his irritation though. "Yes, I see where you're going with this. True, I may have had a 'voice' that kept telling me that something was amiss. I guess it must have been because of those…"

"Yes?"

_Those incredible green eyes of yours…_ "Hands." At Basil's vacant look, he gently took one of her slightly trebling hands in his own. "These hands, my dear detective, are far too gentle and delicate to belong to a man." He patted it. Basil pulled it back, her eyes glaring daggers at the other rodent. Had he not remembered a certain incident that took place not too long ago, he would have laughed at her expression. But right now, he was far to worried that those hands were coming dangerously close to some captured chess pieces. "Peace, woman! Peace! We don't want a re-do of your earlier display of fury."

"Hump!" Puffed Basil, feeling insulted. "Well, that could have been avoided quite nicely had you just kept your hands to yourself."

Now it was Ratigan's turn to look offended. "Figures! This the thanks one gets when he's preventing the injuries of another."

"Before that you had just asked me to 'strip'! Not to mention ask all those creepy questions. 'What are you?' or 'are you a man or not?' Tell me what you would have done had you been in my place."

"Well I would have…" He stopped abruptly, for he had just realized that had he _really _been in her place he most certainly would have done the same. Across the table from him, Basil was smirking, looking at him with a look that said 'I see you got my point'. Eventually, Ratigan couldn't help himself any more. He began to holler in an uncontrollable fit of laughter. "My word, detective, you truly are a peace of work. Did you know that?" He moved his queen to H4. "But I guess that should be expected from the DCI's 'nuisance'."

Basil suddenly felt proud of herself. It was a very pleasant feeling and it would have been better still had it not been for another breath-taking cough fit.

Ratigan, still smiling, lit up a cigarette with a match (he had to start looking for that lighter) and started puffing on it contently. He offered one to the detective, but she refused.

"Well, what's done is done and there is no changing the past, merely learn from your mistakes and avoid making more in the future. I know I for one learned from mine." Basil, still trying to regain her breath, nodded. "But now I guess it's my turn." He looked at the board, puzzled over his next move for a while, moved his second knight so it would attack one of Basil's rocs then leaned back in his seat. "Another question, detective: just how did you end up here? It's pretty hard to believe that you tracked down tubby all the way to my doorstep for some reason."

Basil glared. "Dr. Dawson is not tubby. He is merely better developed then most." Ratigan rolled his eyes. "And why does it seem so hard for you to comprehend that I was merely looking for my flat mate?"

Ratigan looked up. "Flat mate? Somebody actually wants to share the same rooms with you? The ultimate menace of the mouse-world?" Basil didn't beat an eyelash. "Oh, dear! Next thing I know you'll go and tell me that you and the poor fool are sharing the same bed. Are you not wearing a wedding band by any chance?"

Basil grabbed the board.

"Peace, woman! I was merely jesting."

"Make sure you don't forget that." Said Basil angrily, yet she did release the board. "And it's nothing wrong with sharing rooms with a decent fellow as long as we both keep to our own bedrooms."

Ratigan nodded, lost in thoughts. Somehow, he could relate to that. But not quite… "I take it that you don't actually like the doctor?"

"I practically sacrificed my freedom for him, Ratigan. Do try to think before you ask such questions. And are you sure you want to lose that rook?"

"You can have it. I'll just capture one of yours in two moves and call it even. But that was not what I meant." He cleared his voice. "I mean… you don't really fancy him, do you?"

Basil's jaw dropped. "I thought that was a joke! I treasure him as a friend and love him as dearly as a brother or even as a father, but that does not mean I feel any kind of romantic inclination for the man. In case you forgot, I am not the loving type. Maybe I really should hit you so you would remember that. And dare say 'peace, woman' again and I _will _hit you. I have a name, you know. Use it!"

"You have my apologies, _Basil_." Sure, he was mocking her now, but at least he had not called her that again.

And they had carried on in that manner till the clock struck twelve. At around a quarter past seven, the children finally decided it was safe enough to come out of their hiding place along with a very annoyed Thinker. The bee did not much like being stuck in a cupboard with two children when its queen was facing that big old rat all by herself. Needless to say, it zoomed out and positioned itself back on Basil's head as soon as the cupboard's door creaked open.

Ratigan did not look so happy to see the bee at first but after a lot of (dare one say it) pleading on Basil's part, he let it slide. He even agreed not to murder the children if they left for bed that very instant – a thing that they were all to willing to do.

At around eight, Cookie decided to take a peak and check up on the two. He had taken the time to put little Olivia and Midget to sleep, assuring them both that Ratigan did not intend to kill their detective friend (or mutilate her beyond recognition), but truth be told, he was a bit nervous himself. Ratigan was not in a good mood the last time he saw him after all. Imagine his surprise when he found them engrossed in a game of chess, Ratigan whining about the fact that he should have seen that bishop coming. Maybe there really was some hope left for them after all.

He left the kitchen a happy mole, though maybe he should have expressed his concern concerning Basil's rapidly degenerating health.

"I'll see you in check mate yet!" Cried Ratigan as Basil captured his last rock.

"That was supposed to be my line." Was Basil's quick, yet at the same time tired, remark. Three days worth of coughing had exhausted her body far worse then the stress did her mind. In her case, the mind could repair itself given the proper motivation. The rest of her though, was not quite so cooperative.

She tried to put all that aside for the moment and try and concentrate on the game. Each player now had only a queen, a pawn and a kind respectively, so it was only a matter of time till the game would finally reach its end.

In a way, she was sorry to reach that conclusion. As impossible and even more improbably as it seamed, Ratigan made quite a decent chess partner. The fact that she now knew enough about Ratigan to make Vole cry with joy was a nice bonus as well. But most of all, she herself was pleased with the outcome of this 'game'. True, she might have spilled out a couple of things about her she might regret later on, but at the same time, she found that Ratigan had certain views concerning their society she found herself agreeing on. She was almost ready to understand his desire to overthrown the queen and reform society, was almost willing to accept that an orphan would be better off dead then to be put to work for the rest of his or her life in one of those dreadful workhouses… but almost.

"But Ratigan… if you kill someone, mercy or not, aren't you also taking away their chances to make a difference?"

He looked at her quizzically. "What do you mean?"

She hesitated. What she wanted to say… she had yet to tell anyone. It was a particularly painful memory for her. But for some unknown reason, she wanted Ratigan to know this. "My brother – as in, my older brother, Myerricroft – doesn't know this yet, but I remember when my mother and brother died. Some thieves broke into our house while father and Myerricroft were away. Mother tried to fight back, but they were stronger. They… killed her and my brother right in front of my eyes." She paused. "But I lived – lived to see another day." She felt her eyes sting, yet she refused to let the tears fall. "For months I kept wondering why I lived, when they died. There had been times when I think I would have been better off dead. But I lived and eventually, I learned to put everything behind me and just carried on living. Had I died when I did I wouldn't have grown up to become the detective I am – or, was at least – and many parents would have lost their parents, treasures would continue to go missing and you wouldn't have a chess partner right now, one that is trying to make a point."

She looked the professor right in the eye, trying to read his mind. For the first time, Ratigan looked remorseful, but of what, Basil wasn't sure. All she knew was that the professor didn't appear to be faking an expression.

"I am sorry…" was all he said. Basil didn't know if he truly meant it, but she decided it didn't really matter any more. The room was spinning and her head was aching… and if only she would stop seeing double…

With difficulty, she tried to continue the game.

"Detective, is something wrong?" Ratigan asked out of the blue at some point.

"I'm fine." She replied without thinking. Seeing her opponent's skeptical look, she added: "Just a bit tired, I guess." Ratigan hummed silently to himself and checked his pocket watch.

"Well, we have been playing for a few hours." He flipped the lid of the watch close and tucked the thing back in his pocket. "And though I chose not to say anything, all that couching of yours surely couldn't have done you much good. Why don't you try to lie down for a bit?"

"We both remember how a previous attempt of that ended."

Ratigan couldn't help chuckle. "Indeed… The problem with you, detective, is that you don't trust people enough." He got up. "I am not the kind of person to kick a fellow when he's down…" Basil ran a hand over her face. "Oh, very well, maybe I am. But that's not the point. Basil, think: what had I done to harm you in the last twenty-four hours? Unless memory serves me wrong, I actually went off and helped you with that leg. And for the past several hours we've been playing chess. Now, what would make you think I bear you any real ill will? Death treats aside."

Basil sighed. "It's hard to trust someone who keeps a pistol on hand."

Ratigan froze. That gun she was talking about was tucked away in one of his inner pockets, prone to discovery if checked, true, but he was _very _careful not to draw any attention to it. He was not all that wiling to explain its presence. So how the blazes did she –?

"I am still Basil of Baker Street, Ratigan." Came her quick response, as if she could read his mind. "Prisoner or not, or even _guest _– as Cookie insists on calling me – or not, I am still the best detective Mousedom had ever seen. If you plan on hiding a weapon from me, you really should do better then that."

Slowly, Ratigan extracted the pistol from within his pocket. It was an outdated model, but still quite effective. Not once had it done a very good job in riding him of unwanted personnel. He… was not certain if it would be put to use that night… or any other night… He had been carrying the thing along with him for the past three days, constantly wondering if he should listen to reason and experience, or if he should try something else.

It had taken him three days to listen to Cookie and talk to Basil, yet it had taken him less then a minute to finally make up his mind.

With less grace then it he was accustomed to, he placed the thing on the chessboard, right in front of his prisoner. He took a step back then, pulled out another cigarette and lit it. He puffed for a while, time in which Basil had taken the fire arm into her hands, twisting and checking it. Much like she expected, she found it loaded, and more then just ready to be used. She looked at Ratigan, half expecting him to lash out at her, just as long as this didn't turn out to be what she thought it was.

The professor breathed in the smoke of his cigarette before speaking: "Well… what can you deduce from this?"

Basil took a deep breath before replying "Chit-chatting is not like you, nor the forgive and forget thing. You keep a grudge longer then anyone else I have ever met. Under normal circumstances, by now you would have feed me to your cat. Instead, you invited me to play chess. For a long time I wanted to think that maybe Cookie put you up to this, but I knew it was foolish of me to do so. You're too stubborn. And when I noticed this -" she held up the pistol "- and I just knew that this had to be some sort of test." Ratigan said nothing. "This really was some sort of test then." Basil concluded calmly, yet her fingers had tightened around the pistol, the flesh turning white underneath the fur.

After what seemed like a decade, Ratigan finished his cigarette, rushing down what remained on the table. He did not look at her as he finally began to speak.

"What case had you been working on before you arrived here, detective?"

"Huh?" That was a bit unexpected. "Why, nothing really…"

"Please don't lie, detective. I know that it was not 'nothing'. You've been snooping around ever since you got here. Certainly you were looking into something." Ashamed of herself, of being caught, Basil nodded. She could not meet his eyes. "I think it's safe to assume that it was a murder case. Those are the only ones that can spark your interest like that."

"Four murdered girls – all having a certain affiliation to bakers. The way they were murdered was not all that uncommon. The only thing that made it all that uncommon was that their murderers were soon found incinerated. Nobody yet knows how that happened when they had nothing among themselves to cause a fire in the first place, nor had they come in contact with anyone or anything." She coughed. "Pardon. Ether way, concerning their victims, one was burned to death, another was stabbed, the third one was found in an ice room while the forth one had her throat cut…"

"And the fifth one was drowned…" In that moment, the world could have just as well have stopped moving, for Basil would not be able to notice. To say she was shocked was saying too little yet to say she did not suspect Ratigan knew something about this was saying too much.

"Now three days ago I recall you had taken an interest in Terra. Do you remember?" It was hard to forget. She nodded, despite the fact that he couldn't see it.

"She was a… friend, you could say." He said at long last. "I met her when I was still a teacher, struggling with one's pupils and fighting to pay the rent. Or, more exactly, to find a place you could rent when you had little to nothing in your pocket." He chuckled, but unlike his previous ones, this one was filled with sadness. "Terra Flaps was the only one that seamed to take pity on me at the time. We made some sort of a bargain to… to live together and all. She would give me a room and I would teach her everything I knew."

Basil patiently waited for him to continue.

"Today, even a schoolboy would dare call himself far more intelligent then she was and I could find nothing to contradict him with." He sighed. "She never received any proper form of education before she met me. She was illiterate, had no real knowledge outside of the daily duties of a baker-mouse's helper and grand-daughter, but at the same time, she was far from stupid. She did not know fact, true, but she could determine cause and effect. In fact, one look at you and she could tell you your entire life story." He smiled. "She was the one that taught me the art of deduction." He turned to face Basil. "You remind me of her on many things you know. You have… seen her portrait."

It was not a question, but Basil nodded ether way.

"You must have noticed her eyes, detective. Forest green… always so bright and full of life…" His eyes fell on the chess board, on his white queen and with the utmost delicacy, picked up the peace and lifted up at eye level. "To this day, I am still not sure why I remember them so vividly. But the point is, detective, that I loved that woman. I loved her more then anything on earth. Yet I never got to tell her that…" he placed the queen back on the board. "One summer I was invited to become a professor at Oxford University. I was supposed to teach there the following fall, teach proper mathematics, teach people that really wanted to learn and be paid properly for it. It was, in short, my dream come true if you believe in such nonsense. And I, in my foolishness, accepted. I did not pause to think that I should have brought Terra along with me. She had been feeling poorly for months and her grandfather's business was not doing all that well ever since a nasty gang of rats came to London. The ride would not have done her much good, but it would have done her less harm then staying here had." He placed a hand over his eyes. "I still blame myself for not predicting the outcome…"

Basil reached over and took his white queen in her hands, turning it over again and again, and thinking of what Ratigan had said. "What happened?"

"One of her _friends_, the only one she seemed to have beside me, was… bearing her ill thoughts." He paused. "Right after I left, he started poisoning her mind against me, against society. He used every nasty trick in the bloody book too. He drove her to the brink of madness. And things in London had steadily started to go from bad to worse. There were riots and people were leaving their houses, all thanks to those rats that started terrorizing everyone. By the time I got wind of it, it was too late. Terra hated me, cursed me and the next moment… she was gone… Dropped dead besides her dead grandfather…"

Basil's ears fell flat on her head. Her mind flew back to that day when she was ten. The yelling, the blood, the screams… She covered her face with her hands, pushing back the memories.

"Her body died in a fire, yet her mind had long since burned. Her beautifully bright mind was poisoned constantly and after I left, I believe she just couldn't be able to tell delusion from reality."

That too sounded… like something she could relate to.

"What do you mean by that?"

"This _creature _is no ordinary murderer. He seeks out certain girls to please his fancy. But he doesn't just kill them. Oh, no, he's crueler then that. He would speak to them; promise them the moon and the stars and what ever they may wish. Eventually, he would enter their heads, possess their dreams and take them away from everything they have ever held dear. And what is worse is that there is no way anyone can stop him. Once he sets his mind on a target, there is no way he can be diverted from that path. No victim of his had ever survived."

Basil was on her feet in an instant. "But there must be some way he can be stopped!" Ratigan shook his head.

"Sorry kid, but we already tried everything. The only thing we can do is find his possible targets and kill them as fast and merciful as possible." He paused for a moment to massage his temples. "I know you may think me a cruel man, detective, but even I wouldn't let some poor soul suffer so. The death he brings them is a most cruel death – very slow and very painful. He doesn't just kill his targets, he destroys them."

Basil's mind was working a mile a minute, but all this new information was making her dizzy. She tried to sort it all out, to make sense of the professor's words, but all she could think of was: "'We'?"

Ratigan had to smile at that. "Oh, that would be Cookie, Becky and I. Each of us had a loved one taken away by that monster at some point of our lives, we decided to make a difference. We swore that we would see to it so that he would never harm another living creature as he had done to my beloved Terra. We worked on killing off potential victims all around Europe –"

"That's mass murder!"

"Hardly so. This thing is searching for specific girls, as I have said earlier. Judging by the anger in your eyes I tell you don't quite see things my way so I'll do my best to elaborate. This thing is searching for girls that have these exact qualities: independence, brilliance, forest green eyes and the most important thing – they had to bear the same blood. Namely, the same as you." He finished, pointing a finger at her.

As for Basil… well… by now she was gapping like a fish. This was all so… "Impossible."

"Merely hardly believable detective, but believe me on this one. I never miscalculate."

"Hold on a minute!" She cried, waving her hands. "The Basils were never much of a close family, but we knew our family, and I can safely say that I bear no relationship to anyone named 'Flaps'. So your theory has got to be wrong. Apart from some criminals that wish to get revenge on me, there is nobody out there trying to get me. I mean, only a handful of people even know the Sherringford from behind the detective, and fewer still know that he is not actually a he at all."

Ratigan brushed off her concerns like they were mere smoke. "All that is of no importance. He will find you as long as you sleep."

"And just what does that suppose to mean?" Basil was getting angry now. This made no sense! And she didn't like the grin that now flashed on Ratigan's face.

"I will answer with a question: had you had any dreams that seamed too real to be dreams? Maybe… that you were on fire? That someone stabbed you? That you were freezing? Or maybe that you were out of breath? Some voice that was telling you that it was going to be all-right? Promising you rest? Promising you peace?" With each question, he came one step closer to her and with each question Basil was shaking more and more. What Ratigan was telling her was impossible… nobody could enter another person's subconscious. It was impossible on all accords. Not even hypnotists were that good. The farthest one could go would be to suggest, to implant a thought… but to control a person like that…

Before she knew it, Ratigan had cupped her face into his hand, forcing her to look straight at his too smug a' face. She should have said right then and there that he was insane, that this was all some sick joke on his part. But Ratigan had dropped the bomb with only a few small words:

"Hadn't you been drowning in your sleep now three days ago?"

To think that all it needed was just a few simple words heard at a particular moment for one's world to come crumbling down… Basil stared and stared and stared some more, yet she couldn't really do much beside that. Her brain had literally turned to mush. All she knew, all she was certain off had been blown away with just a few small words.

She didn't really hear Ratigan when he once again suggested that she should lie down, nor that she looked whiter then natural. She did not acknowledge the world around her when Ratigan picked her up, scolding her that she shouldn't faint while still standing while in her condition (he must have been referring to her leg). Just as well, she wasn't quite there when he brought her to the room Cookie had prepared for her and gently placed her on the bed. She was just… lost.

"Normally, I would suggest you not sleep for a while, detective. But seeing as you already done that and it didn't seem to do you much good, I think another course of action would have to –"

"Will you have to kill me?" Basil cut off the professor, almost startling her. She still felt lost, but at least a part of her mind seamed to be once again able to analyze data.

"I…" he paused. "Well, as long as you can keep yourself away from him, I don't really have to."

She nodded and then frowned. Her mind having mended itself a bit after the shock worked on processing some of the information she had just received, only to find that something didn't add up. "What do you mean by that? I though you said that you and your little group kill potential victims to put them out of their suffering before it even starts. What's so special in my case?"

He looked uncomfortable for a moment. "Well, Cookie believes that there could be a way to stop him without having to kill anymore." She became all ears. "All we have to do was to find another potential victim – as in, you – and keep her safe until we could figure something out. You see, when he enters a subject's mind, he would practically be flirting with her subconscious. If we can find someone to, say, flat-down refuse him, much like you'd refuse some derange lunatic's offer of marriage, then he would lose the will to ever enter another's mind ever again."

That… made some sense. "So… you want me to try and fight this guy's advances?"

Ratigan nodded. "That would be the main idea, yes. But right now, enough chit-chat. If you plan on doing anything you need to get some sleep and get rid of that damn cold you got. If anything, it sounds like the beginning of pneumonia, one illness I do not think any of Cookie's old teas would kill."

"But why me?" She protested. "Those other girls he already killed –"

"That was not him." _Pardon? _"Unless I am gravely mistaken – thing that doesn't happen often – that would be Becky's doing. That woman separated herself from us after our last official job now thirteen years ago and I haven't heard anything of her since. Seems she became aware of the bastard's return and began taking things into her own hands, yet the problem with her is that she doesn't have our records, so she has no idea who to kill."

Maybe that should have surprised her, but given what she heard until now… "So, the poor sods that murdered them –"

"Were merely her puppets." Ratigan concluded for her. "Yes, I know. That sounds a bit more like my style, but what can I say? I can be convincing but she's un-refuseable. And untraceable from the looks of things." He finished with a scowl.

"I don't think I want to know how she does that, do I?"

"Nope. Angelique Bequet is not a woman who's skills should ever be questioned."

…_ Say what again? _"Angelique Bequet?"

"That would be Becky. A Hungarian red squirrel with a perfectly French name needed some teasing. She absolutely hates it when I call her that." And thus he became lost in a world of memories. But Basil's mind, now back to working at full capacity, wanted to make the best of what she had learned.

"I say, Ratigan, you claim to have difficulty in finding this former team-mate of yours?" The rat nodded. "Well, what do you say if I find her for you?" This time, he stared at her, uncertain if what he heard was not some misplaced fragment of his imagination. "I am rather good at tracing missing people with minimum of information, after all. In exchange for a little something…"

"Ah! I knew it had to be something, you devious creature." Ratigan cried in triumph. "You never work on something unless you gain something from it – be it sport or pay. This time, it seems to be pay." She started to couch again. But right now I stand by what I said now a little while ago. I may let things slide but I don't particularly want to see you die on me because of some silly cold." She looked at him, a question already forming on her lips. Ratigan smiled and ran a teasing paw through that mop of hair on top of her head (much to the protests of one certain Thinker who had been quite comfortable until then). "And don't worry your poor little head about the boogie messing with your brain. I'll keep watch tonight and at the slightest sign of a dream, I'm waking you up."

Basil didn't quite know what to say to that. This Ratigan she met tonight was certainly not the one she had grown used to.

"Thank you, Ratigan." And she found, she meant it. "And what do you say to my offer?"

He had just picked up a book from a far corner of the room and prepared himself to take a seat on a chair next to her bed when she asked that. He seemed to be contemplating on his options when, now seated and book already open, spoke: "What do you want?"

She decided to take that as a good sign. Taking a deep breath yet forcing herself not to cough again, she finally named her price: "I just want you to let the children go. Allow Olivia to go to her father and pardon Midget." She took another breath. "Let them go and see them safe, and I'll find your colleague."

A heavy silence had fallen between the two and for several agonizing minutes Basil was worried that she may have went overboard with her request. She made a bargain with Ratigan for Dawson's freedom before… and she knew that the outcome of that didn't please Ratigan as much as he would have hoped. She was not an easy creature to live with after all. And now things seamed to have repeated themselves…

She came close to screaming out 'FORGET IT!' when suddenly, she saw a hand in front of her. Her eyes followed said arm to the face of one James P. Ratigan, one of the most dangerous rodents in all of London, who now was smiling a very sincere, very… un-Ratigan kind of smile. She almost dropped her jaw at the sight – _almost_ – until he gently said:

"We have a deal."

* * *

(1) "Exact cum trebuia sa fii, aş zice!" = ro. _"Exactly the way you were supposed to be, I'd say!"_

(2) Julius Augustus Silverson – another character created by her ladyship Diane N. Tran. The words she uses to describe them are as follows: "Julius Augustus Silverson is described as "the _worst_ mouse in London"! He is one of the most menacing and malevolent of all of Sherringford Basil's adversaries, the cruelest and most heartless of fiends. Why? He is the Master Blackmailer — the King of Blackmailers — who preys and thrives upon weakness with a frozen face, a twisted smile, and a heart of marble. " In short: not someone you would like to have as an enemy.

(3) In chess, scholar's mate is the checkmate which occurs after the moves 1.e4 e5 5 Nc6 4 Nf6 7#. The moves may be played in a different order or with slight variations, but the basic idea – the queen and bishop combining in an attack on f7 (or f2 if Black is performing the mate) is the same. Sometimes scholar's mate is referred to as the four-move checkmate, though there are other ways to checkmate in four moves.

* * *

**Now beta-read by the wonderful _Crazy Laughter _! You're awesome!**

* * *

_I really hope you guys didn't think I would enter such a long hiatus without returning with something big. For your entertainment (at the cost of my pain) I present to you a two in one chapter, for originally this should have been cut in two, but I decided against that and voila! Only problem is... can you guys suggest which scene should be illustrated? Please? __I also apologize if any of the characters seemed out of character. Any suggestions to improve anything? OH! And one more thing: some scenes may change a bit in the following days, so stay toned!_

_Liked the chapter? Has it answered any questions? Did you expect such a turn of events? How about of how Basil and Ratigan are interacting ?(I must actually thank DaughterofBaricade for seeding the idea for one of the scenes with the two in my head) And now that there seamed to have been a certain... understanding, how would they manage to see things to the end? _

_For the answers to these questions and more, stay toned for the next update!_

_Reviews are - as always - welcomed and greatly appreciated!_


	16. Chapter fifteen

**_Whispers in the Dark _**

**Chapter fifteen**

"This is hopeless…"

Inspector Clawes paused in his reading to look at the one who spoke. Vole was staring into space, head placed on an open book… looking positively horrid.

"We've been over all the bloody books in the damn library, asked half a dozen history professors and we still haven't a clue as to what this damn symbol means."

Vole sighted. He tried to make a mental list with all that went wrong in the world these last couple of days: Ratigan turned out to be _alive_, Basil was _with _Ratigan, probably tortured and half starved by now, Olivia Flaversham was _missing _and her father was close to going mental and he had four more bodies to deal with, two of which being prematurely incinerated - which was why he was now wondering why the hell he was even here, browsing though books on the occult and symbolism. He should be in bed, taking a nice long vacation away from stress and the memory of murdering ex-superintendents.

Oh right. He'd almost forgotten that one.

Now exactly two days ago – just after returning from their little chat with Basil – Clawes had completed his tests on those pills the superintendent had given him. By some bizarre turn of events, Basil's words had indeed been more then just a figure of speech, for the pills indeed contained arsenic powder. Not enough to kill a mouse, but enough to eventually make him inapt at his job.

It was not the fact that although the chances of him actually dying from the things were, according to Dr. Dawson, 'far less then slim if one is to take in consideration all the stress you've been under', nor was it the fact that someone in the _upper levels of the Yard_ was trying to get rid of him that made him snap – noooo. It was the fact that someone had tried to take his work away from him.

Now, don't get him wrong. Vole is not a vengeful mouse by nature. Were you to hit him straight in the face with a tomato, he wouldn't go as low as to keep a grunge against you. Sure, fighting fire with fire was not below him and he would certainly give you your just deserves for humiliating him, but most of the times, he truly wasn't the kind to seek out revenge. But one must also understand that Vole's work was his life.

Literally.

Attempt to take the work away from him and he instantly saw you as the enemy. Even more: attempt to keep _him_ away from his work… and let's just say that things were no longer buttercups and roses between the two of you.

He must consider himself lucky nobody saw fit to cuff him after almost successfully strangled the now former superintendent. They say it's not like your boss attempts to poison you every day. And to think that only a day before he was excusing himself to the bastard!

Clawes wondered for days if he did the right thing by telling him the results of those tests he did on the pills.

It was now, two days later that tea time found both he and Clawes at the library, looking for that one symbol that nobody seamed to know anything about. Why? Because Basil said so… and because he needed a damn catalyst, that's why! He was already moody and snappish to begin with, if you'd leave him without anything to do there was no telling what he might be capable of.

… But why did that have to involve dusty old books?

"Making any progressss, inssssssspectorsssss?" A snakish voice broke the steady silence which had now fallen over both officers. Vole tensed for a moment, thinking that they were attacked by a snake, before remembering that Miranda Otto, chief librarian and reverent of the current church they were in (last library in the city they have yet to check), _was _a snake. And speak of the devil, there she was – black priest attire and spooky large round glasses to boost.

Vole will forever be ashamed at the thought that at a first encounter with Miranda Otto his voice made the perfect imitation of that of a five-year-old girl's… but for pity's sake, he had every reason to do so!

"_Clawes, just who did you say is seeing to us again?"_

"_Reverent Otto. Quite charming and most loved around the priorchy, but apparently has a terribly bad eyesight." If the particularly messy library was of any indication, then he had no doubt about it. _

"_Oh, wonder just what gave you that idea…" Suddenly, he noticed movement behind a mountain of books to his left. Boldly, he croked his head just a little to see who it was. Probably the Reverent…_

"_Hello?" he called and the person stopped moving. The next moment was hard to describe for Vole barely noticed a pair of peculiarly large glasses sticking from underneath an open book before a most distinctive kind of voice spoke the following words:_

"_Oh, dear me! Ho posssitively sssilly of me! Getting caught in my own booksss. You must be the inssspectorsss. I am Reverent Miranda Otto, at your ssservice." _

…The Reverent was a **SNAKE**!

"Yes and no, Reverent." Clawes replied and Vole found that the _normal _way in which he did so disturbed him. He knew she was harmless (or at least, that's what the Reverent promised him once Vole managed to get him down from that bookcase) but… dear God, the thing was a snake! Meaning she could _eat you_!

Miranda Otto smiled a nervous smile, trying to make it look like she was reassuring them. Truth being said, it only made Vole feel even more uneasy.

"Well, I am ssertain that you'll find what you're looking for. We have quite an esstended collection on sssymbolism, ssso there are low chancesss you won't find anssswersss to your quessstionsss."

"We sure hope so, Reverent. The last five people we've been to had nothing on the symbol we're looking for."

"Maybe it'sss just bad luck on your part. But you'll sssee: sssooner or later you'll find your book, be it from here or another library in town. It'sss not like we are the only onesss open."

Vole mumbled something incomprehensible. Clawes looked like you've just hit him with an anvil. Well, who could blame them seeing as this was the last library in the city they _haven't _crossed out.

Seeing the reaction her words had brought, the Reverent attempted to make light of the situation. "But… well, it'sss not like I know anything. I'm jussst a poor Reverent. You're the police and you know what to do. After all, you alwaysss catch your man." It didn't work. "Come now, inssspectorsss. I'm certain it'sss not that bad." While saying that, she slid closer to their reading material. Vole immediately scrambled awa-… erm… made room for the Reverent. Yes, he was being just polite… Forget it – he'll say it dead on: _The Reverent is a snake!_

"My, you two are quite the passsssionate workerssss, inssspectorsss…"

_You can say that again… _Thought Vole wile releasing a sigh (yet still standing weary). He too looked over their work desk. The papers scattered about were full of the oddest of symbols along with detailed notes on each of them. Some of these were scratched out, others had an exclamation mark added in front of them, and some had a question mark. The books around them weren't any different, except maybe for the scratches. At least, the book he had been using as a pillow didn't.

"Dear me… You've even looked over our human worksss! Just what sssymbol did you sssay you're looking for again?" Clawes picked up a pencil and drew the troublesome thing on the back of a random piece of paper. "Ah yesss, I can sssee your dilemma… But it lookesss like sssuch a sssimple looking thing. Are you sssure there isssn't anything in our books? You might have missssed it." Clawes shock his head softly, and for the first time Vole noticed just how tired his subordinate looked.

There were dark circles under Clawes' eyes and his usually smart kept hair was now sticking out at odd ends. He looked in the need of rest and maybe a nice warm shower to go along with the long-ignored need of a supper. Same thing could apply to Vole himself considering all the growling his stomach was doing lately.

Then, something most unexpected happened. As the Reverent attempted to draw the symbol herself, Clawes eyes focused on her writing. Vole, intrigued, looked for himself at the Reverent, but saw nothing that would give him any clue as to what had caught Claws' attention. _Maybe he finally noticed her reptilian features._

The Reverent herself was completely obvious to the whole thing.

"Erm… maybe the inssspectorsss' mindsss would work better after a nice cup of tea?" The reverent asked, trying to give hope. No-one answered. "Wonderful! I'll go get tea."

As the Reverent took her leave, Clawes picked up the en again and drew the symbol again, then again, then once more. After the fifth time Clawes' face lid up like a candle and with a speed Vole did not suspect he possessed, rushed to pick up several papers that were scattered all around the floor and tried to re-arrange them in order. Vole looked at the younger mouse a bit oddly.

Clawes cried out. "Of course! Why didn't I see it before?" _Huh?_ "It was staring right in front of us! We should have seen it!" …_Comment__? _

"Lad? Do you need a break?"

Clawes suddenly realized he wasn't making much sense. "Sorry sir…"He then cleared his voice and handed him the papers. "But really sir, look at these, really look at these." He pointed at the papers and Vole's eyes followed.

Yes, those were the same old doodles they've been looking over for days now… He looked at Clawes, silently inviting him to explain.

"Basil had said that learning what that symbol that kept appearing at every crime scene meant might bring us closer to getting to the bottom of this, but as we came to see, this one doesn't seem to have a match –" Vole felt a very strong urge to run from Claws' sudden enthusiasm. "No, please sir. Hear me out." From his jacket pocket, he pulled out a peace of metal Vole was soon able to identify as Ratigan's lighter. "This symbol on the Professor's lighter is not similar to any of the symbols we've come across, right? But truly look at it sir. It's so clear!"

Hesitantly, Vole took the lighter in his hand and, with a critical eye, compared the symbol on it with the ones Clawes selected. A few seemed somewhat similar, but as Clawes was quick to point out mere hours ago, there were several differences.

"Are you trying to tell me we haven't been looking in the right place? That maybe we missed something?" Vole asked, stepping forward to brows through one of the books laid out in front of them.

"You can check those over and over again, sir. There is nothing there."

Almost disgusted, Vole threw the book he held in his hand over his shoulder, muttering several curses under his breath.

"But I think I have it, sir." Clawes chirped, drawing Vole's attention back upon himself. The younger mouse pulled out another peace of paper and handed it to the inspector. Vole found it to be blank. "It had occurred to me that not all you need to know lies in books. Basil once scolded me good for forgetting that. So maybe what we're looking for doesn't lie in books." Vole just nodded, not at all sure where this was going. "Sir, this isn't a symbol, but a collection of several!"

Vole was now officially lost.

"Look at it this way sir. If you look at… No. Better yet, here. Draw the symbol for me again, please." Vole did so. "Now once again and tell me what you notice, sir." … _Nothing? _"No problem sir. Do it again now, one shape at a time."

_One shape at a time?_ Vole looked at his subordinate with a face that seamed to say 'you must be kidding me' but for the sake of sanity, he attempted to do as asked. First, he drew a circle, as best as he could that is, then the star inside of it and at the very end put them both inside a triangle. There: circle, star and triangle. What now?

… Wait a minute…

"Circle, star and triangle… Claws, don't these things qualify as symbols all on their own?"

"Exactly sir!" He rushed past Vole and took a pen a peace of paper from the work table. "If we were to break the symbol down, we'd see that we actually have not one – but three symbols on our hand. If every one of these would have a meaning attached to them, then maybe together they could form another meaning – the one that we are looking for. Just like how when you use certain words to form a sentence."

"Brilliant, Clawes!" Vole cried in delight. "All we need to do now is to find out the meanings behind these three simple thingies here." He concluded, tapping the paper with the back of his hand multiple times.

"Already started, sir. I've seen them a couple of times. See here." He drew a star. "This here is our first 'word'. This star is actually a pentagram. Common knowledge says that it is a pagan symbol representing some religious sect. But when I looked it up, I found that originally, this pentagram was the symbol for Venus, the Roman goddess of love, beauty and fertility (if I am to quote the book)." He picked up a _very _old – and a very heavy one if one would pause to notice Clawes' struggles in his attempts to actually lift the thing… - book. "But that's just one of the pentagram's many meanings. It can also mean the five elements, a human or it can refer to something called the 'Golden proportion'(1) – some sort of a mathematical formula which, to be perfectly frank, I still didn't fully comprehend as of yet."

Vole knew that he was not one of them 'smart sort' of people, but there he was not dumb ether. Yet now, he was not completely sure he was following. _So much for 'clear'…_"A goddess… that I managed to understand. So you mean that star thingy is a woman?" What did that have to do with spontaneously combustible murderers?

"It's Venus, sir." Clawes corrected and Vole nodded (though still wasn't sure he quite got it). The younger of the two then proceeded by adding a circle on paper. "This circle here is a bit trickier. Usually a circle would mean ether perfection, infinity or planet – usually ether the earth, the moon or even the sun. So technically…"

"This is getting even more confusing…" Vole commented, looking oddly at the paper. "So, what would it mean so far then? Un-endless goddess? No, not working. Someone who is… immortal? Or maybe, the planet that is called Venus? Is there even such a thing?"

"Well, Venus _is_ a planet. We merely know it better as the morning star – or evening star. Depends on the time of the day."

Vole was grinning, but not a triumphal kind of grin. He should have paid more attention in elementary school… "At least that last one actually seamed to have some sense. And the triangle?"

Clawes nodded. "Our last symbol." He drew a triangle. "This one – individually – means 'fire'. And now if we read them together we get –" gracefully, he motioned for Vole to finish for him.

_He's been hanging around Basil far too much… _"Fire on planet called Venus?"

Clawes smiled, looking very embarrassed. "It will be quite a feat checking that out…" With that, he turned around, searching for… another peace of paper? The shorter mouse looked at his hands… and wondered where he could put that one… "I was thinking of making a list with all plausible combinations. Right now I have in mind around… thirty."

"I don't even want to know how you can do that…" Vole said, crashing into a nearby chair. Sighing, he took off his hat and ran a hand through his locks, placed it back and looked at the papers in his hands and Clawes began his list. He tried to make one on his own but… "Infinite fire from V… Circle of fire… Goddess who is stuck in an orb made out of fire…" And they were so damn close… "What the hell does this thing mean?"

"Dessstroy in order to protect?"

The next couple of seconds were definitely uncomfortable. Vole and Clawes did nothing but stare at Reverent who, with good reason, started to feel so uncomfortable she almost dropped the tea tray.

"W-was it sssomething I sssaid?"

Vole was the first to act. "Reverent, do repeat what you just said." The Reverent fidgeted. "Miranda Otto, tell us what made you say that!"

Were it possible for a snake to ever feel fear for a mouse, then this was the perfect picture to capture this natural impossibility. "Well… you sssee inssspector, from what I managed to hear… nah, you'll think me sssilly."

As Vole felt the desire to bang his head against something hard increase, Clawes decided to interfere. "No, Reverent, I assure you we will not. But, would you mind telling us what made you suggest such a thing? Any bit of information might help us with our investigation."

For a moment, the Reverent seamed to think if telling would truly be such a good idea. Eventually, she simply sighted and let it out. "I am not good at explaining thingsss, inssspectorsss… but I know that if I was to use sssymbolsss to leave a messssage, I would ssstick to rudimentary meaningsss. Do you not agree?" Both inspectors nodded. "Well, I couldn't help overhearing you talking about the fire sssymbol and that was when I remembered sssomething from my mythology classsses: fire usually has two meaningsss. It can ether be a sssymbol for energy and purification or one of malice and dessstruction. Given the fact that you are here because of a felony, I suspect the last."

Both inspectors were inclined to believe her on that. "On the malicioussss part, fire is often associated with demonsss, essspecially in more recent yearsss. All throughout history there have been countlesss recordsss of demonsss sssearching for a gateway to earth. To do that, a demon would sssearch for what we call a 'vessel', a living creature which can grant them entrance to our world. Fire is a common motive in these casssesss."

"Cases… Like possession?" Clawes asked.

"Not quite." The Reverent answered. "Possssessssion is only a way in which the demon can touch our world – it'sss more like tesssting the grounds, if you will. Like how you would try out a coat warn by another. You can make it fit, but it would never feel like it ever was made for you. Using the sssame principle, to be able to enter they mussst be born into thisss world, which isss why it isss sssaid that demonsss sssearch for a host strong enough to be able to create a powerful enough body for the demon in quesstion." Both inspectors looked at one another, similar expressions playing on their faces. "What? Don't tell me you never wondered why mossst possession casesss had a woman at the center."

"And…" Vole tried to put his thought into words. Quite a fit considering… All right, he'll be perfectly frank: _this was sick! _"How exactly does a demon chose a… 'vesel'?"

"Trial and error I think… but I heard of casssesss in which they go for a certain blood line or people which hold similar characteristics."

This time, Clawes was the one to ask. "And what would happen to the ones who are not strong enough?"

"We are talking demonsss here, my dear inssspector. There isss no other punissshment more practical for wassssting a demon'ssss time then death."

_Wonderful… _Vole's head hurt. "Reverent, I think I didn't fully follow but what did you mean when you said something about 'protection'? So far I see no protection-related _anything_ in your description."

The Reverent looked taken aback. "I didn't sssay? Dear me… age mussst be to blame. But to sssum thisss up, haven't you heard of the inquisssition? Millionsss of women were killed in the dark agesss on account of witchcraft and asssociations with the devil. Prevention better then the treating or however the sssaying went."

All was silent for once agonizing moment, time in which a very disturbing scenario formed into Vole's brain. This… couldn't mean that the one wrecking havoc in London was actually a demon now was it? And even if it was, then why would they focus on the mice world?

Declining the tea, Vole excused himself from any further developments, claiming he needed to check if something came up back at Baker Street. Let Clawes deal with the loony Reverent which made no sense; he was not staying there a moment longer.

Oh, and did he ever mention that the Reverent was a _snake!_

_I need a drink…_

He was just passing Regent's Park (he blamed exhaustion for the unnecessary detour, for he was definitely not worried for Basil, not one bit) when – _well, surprise, surprise! – _a familiar mouse and basset hound came into view. Dr. Dawson, leg in cast and Toby by his side was seated at the base of a now leafless tree, eyes gazing towards the park. The good doctor was deep in thought and the dog was… miserable to say the least.

A couple of hours ago, Dawson took advantage of Mrs. Judson's absence (door bell, blessed be whoever had called) to sneak out of bed and retreat by the back door. All the waiting around had been nothing sort of maddening and the doctor wished for nothing more then to get out, maybe clear his head a little.

Chance seamed to be particularly cheeky for just as he found himself outside, he ran into none-other then Mr. Holms' basset hound Toby. Surprisingly enough, Toby didn't jump him like he often tended to. Instead, he looked positively miserable for a reason Dawson could easily determine.

It still surprised him when Toby started following him a moment later.

"You miss Sherry too, don't you boy?" The dog let out a pathetic sounding whimper, but Dawson was not one to judge. He knew how much it hurt – far too well in fact. Basil may be an impossible mouse to get along. She may also be arrogant, self-centered and rude and by no means a pleasant company, but she also had a remarkable ability to grow on you, to make you enjoy every living moment (except maybe the smoke baths and chemical reactions) and even when she laughed at his inexperience she had yet to do it in malice, but in nothing more then innocent amusement. And what an absolutely charming laugh she had… when she actually laughed, that was. Chuckling and grinning usually lead to uncomfortable situations.

The doctor sighted. It had been less then a year when they first met that one gloomy night back in June, yet he had come to care for that reckless child more then he ever cared about anyone outside of his own family. He would say child because that was what she was: a child – an outstandingly brilliant and independent one, true – but in his eyes, she was a child nonetheless.

"_Dawson, do cease your fussing over me. I can assure you I am most certainly NOT a child!"_

Dawson smiled as Toby whimpered again. Fondly, he patted the dog on the nose, hoping to shoo some of the hurting away, though if you were to ask him, he could not tell if it was the dog's or his own. If for Toby Basil was a loving little master, for him she was like a daughter in all but blood, and damn her annoyingly self-sacrificing self – he was worried sick about her!

_Damn this damn leg… _If it weren't for this inconvenience, he'd throw the crunches in a heartbeat and drag the foolish child home by force if needed be. And wow be on those who dared to cross his path! But alas… that could not happen now.

Toby was now looking at him with curiously pleading eyes, as if he was asking him to say that everything will be all-right.

"Don't worry, old boy. We'll get her back, you'll see." He told the dog, though at the same time, it sounded like he was trying to reassure himself.

"Of course we'll get her back!" Vole's sharp voice cried, making Dawson jump. "It was clear that he never expected such an intervention.

"Inspector Vole?" He wasn't sure what else he could say, especially with the inspector glaring at him in such a fashion. "Did… you find anything?"

"Apart from the fact that I have recently discovered that dust should never be part of any food category known to mouse AND that we have a mouse which should be in bed running about –" Dawson blushed "– yes, I daresay we have."

The doctor's eyes suddenly sparkled with hope. "You have? Oh please inspector, do tell me. I am going quite mad here!"

"I fully know the feeling." Vole muttered. "Well, we have a lead on our symbol. Apparently, we're talking about three symbols instead of one…."

And with that, he ended up telling the good doctor everything. Toby also proved to be surprisingly attentive to the conversation. Of course, being a dog, Toby didn't understand much of the mice's conversation, but whatever they were talking about seamed rather important.

At the end of it all, Dawson was left speechless.

"This all sounds so… incredible!" Very well: almost speechless. "Demons, witchcraft, goddesses – all we need now are dragons and we just might have a full fantasy novel on our hands."

Vole was trying really hard not to roll his eyes.

"Forgive me Doctor, but I do believe I had my fill of literature for the following couple of weeks. So if we could keep the references to this particular subject to a minimum…" He made a gesture which Dawson presumed meant 'let's move over'.

"Yes of course, but… oh dear, I am so confused Inspector. Try as I might this whole affair baffles me. If only Basil was here…"

Vole heard the unspoken lines. Dawson simply couldn't bring himself to care enough. He would never voice it out loud, but he knew the Doctor was just too worried for his friend to do anything else.

"Doctor, will all do respect, but knock it off!" Dawson turned to look at him, an incredulous look in his eyes. "You're not helping anyone by moping about. Keep in mind that Basuu is one of the most annoying –" a frown from the doctor "– and bright mice I have ever had the fortune or misfortune to work with. That mouse has more lives then a cat. She is _fine!_" And no, he wasn't trying to convince himself of the fact… only dawson. Yes. It was not like Inspector Vole of Scotland Yard is worried about Basil of Baker Street. No sir! "Now, the sooner we crack this thing the sooner we can get that meddlesome nerve-wrecker out of Ratigan's clutches. For all we know, Ratigan might actually thank us when that happens. So, that being said you can now ether keep on worrying or come with me."

None too nicely, he took hold of one of Dawson's hands and half-dragged him along back towards Baker Street. To say that the Doctor was slightly taken aback by this would have been… a mild understatement.

"I now find myself in the need of a clear mind, and all things considered you have one of the clearest heads in the city as of this point. Now Doctor, do help me see reason, for I fear time is no longer on our side."

"Huh? But, what would you have me do? I'm a doctor, not a detective."

"Yet you've been shearing rooms with Basuu for a few months now. Certainly you picked up _something _from her. Now think. With what we have now, what can we determine?"

There was a long pause, time in which Dawson appeared to really be trying to come up with something. At some point he seamed to be muttering something which sounded a lot like 'You know my methods. Apply them!' but maybe Vole just needed that break more badly then he first thought.

Vole had to admit… at least to himself… that there were few things he wouldn't give so that Basil would just blow their minds away with some miraculous deduction.

_Just how does that mouse do it? Think Vole! Think like the prat!_

As painful as it was, Vole tried to organize his data the Basil way (this case was far too messed up for conventional thinking anyway). Now, if he was Basil, he would deduce that although probable, the prospect of having a demon out there was absolutely ludicrous. But at the same time, this case sided far too close towards the supernatural far too many times already. Ignoring these warning bells now was simply foolish on anybody's part. But what he could be certain of right now was that someone out there was searching for one special girl for some reason and whoever had the misfortune of not being 'the one' died.

Yes, that would do… but he had the feeling that this was not all there was to it.

"Inspector, this is getting us no-where." Dawson said at long last. "It just doesn't make sense. If we're really heading towards the supernatural – which I hope we're not – then I see no reason why the only ones which seem to die unexplainable deaths are the murderers and not the targeted girls."

"The girls were never the ones that died in bizarre ways, but the killers." Vole muttered to himself. Then it hit him.

Inquisition, witchcraft, _prevention_! This wasn't the work of demon, but of someone who is trying to eradicate all possible hosts! _Stupid! _Why didn't he see this sooner? Clawes may already be working along the same line of thought by now. _Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!_

He never noticed the mouse who ran past him crying out an "Excuse me, Inspector! In a hurry here!" a vaguely familiar lizard struggling to keep up.

It didn't matter if this demon existed or not at the moment, right now he understood this killer's motives. In a terribly twisted way, this person was trying to protect them all, no matter the cost. _And no matter that this demon may or may not – probably the 'not' – exist. _

But something was still missing.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a couple of children playing hop-scotch. Asking one of them to borrow him a peace of chalk, he attempted to draw the symbol again. "_It's a collection of several..." _First which he drew was the circle… _Never-ending_… then the pentagram… _host… _followed by the fire… _demon…_There was an order here.

"I say, Inspector, didn't that mouse that just passed look remarkab-"

"Not now Dr. Dawson, I am thinking."

One must note again that Vole was never a clever mouse, but he was a persistent one. He was going to get to the bottom of this one way or another. He was going to prove that he was not a Chief Inspector for nothing.

"All girls were around their early twenty's, had green eyes and were holding some affiliations with bakeries. None of their killers had any valid reason to kill them. All their killers died incinerated afterwards. We can deduce… that we have just one main murderer who can somehow control these follows and use them as puppets to do their dirty work. How? I'll let Clawes figure that out. Probably something close to hypnotism from what I can still remember…" Now several years ago his cousin came over to speak about his new hobby- hypnotism. Vole didn't remember much from his rambling, only that the book says that men are more receptive to mind control them the members of the fairer sex. Less complicated brains or something of the sort. All he could clearly remember was him punching the boy when he attempted to make him believe he was a chicken. "Now, when the control over them is broken, something in their brain triggers all that friction-nonsense Basil told us about… As a result – boom! Only questions remaining are who did it and did he have a compelling reason for doing this?"

Finally some solid ground to work on! For what seamed like a first time in the course of this investigation something made sense. Twisted as it was yes but it still did!

_Thank the Lord… _For a moment there he was thinking that he was going mad…

Vole couldn't resist jumping like a schoolboy in obvious glee. "By Jove, Dr. Dawson, we have it now!" there was no response from the Doctor. "Dr. Dawson?" Vole frowned and looked around for the mouse that… wasn't there anymore? And nether was the.

"_Merde_!" Good by sanity, welcome reality. _I knew I should have become a firemouse! _

Even the damn hound was missing! What the hell did those two… oh, now doesn't that dog tail just round the corner look familiar?

"Dr. Dawson, mind telling me why you've just left me speaking to myself like a dupe?" Vole was irritated, that was plain to see, but the Doctor didn't seem to notice (or care). His eyes were fixed on something just across the street, something rather… not there.

"Inspector… That mouse there… Doesn't it look like Basil?"

He… couldn't say. All Vole could see was a empty street and a dark alley way. But even there he could see

"Now, Dr. Dawson, that can't be. You as well as I know that Basuu is with Ratigan. There is no way that… Never mind Doctor. Here, let's all set back towards Baker Street. It looks like we all are in the need of a nice cup of tea."

And so they left, becoming unnoticed to them that Toby refused to move from his spot.

Several minutes later, Vole believed he could finally relax for a couple of minutes.

"Of course I'm mad! They're out _there_!"

_Or not._

Vole paused, hand still raised in his attempt to knock on the door of lower 221B Baker Street, for the uncommonly sharp and overall angry tone of one Mrs. Judson was heard from beyond the door of the flat. He would have though that nothing could surprise him any more – especially after certain recent events – but it seems that he was proven wrong.

"Mrs. Judson, I understand your concern, really I do, but do pause and think for a moment!" Was that Mr. Myerricroft? "If just going out at this time is considered a risk not worth taking, marching up to the enemy's doorstep would be pure suicide! You can't –"

"No, my mind is made up, sir. Maybe you are willing to let her to her own devices, but I know my girl better then you or anyone out there would! She is reckless and holds no regard of her own health while on a case and she needs someone there to remind her when she's abused herself enough. And from what I heard, she had been coughing and limping. _Coughing _and _limping_! She _never _coughs nor does she ever limp. I am most positive that fiend Ratigan must have dome something to her and I'll be damned if I'll just stand around while she's in need of help. And what of Dr. Dawson? That man's not in his bedroom and hasn't left a note. No bout he's out there looking for my girl all by himself." _Luckily enough, _Vole though, _he's not._ " Now stand aside, Myerricroft Basil!"

"No! I am perfectly aware that she may be self-destructive and has a high disregard of her own self at times. You have been telling me that, over and over – if I may add – for _days_! But at the same time she is a bright, resourceful young lady which can very well take care of herself. You on the other hand, my dear, are no longer young. If you jump in the line of fire so foolishly –"

"'Foolishly'? I know I am not overly intelligent, but after all these years spent in her company I believe I have learned a thing or two about detective work. Not to mention that the way I am feeling right now no robber of murderer would dare mess with me!"

Vole's eyebrows shot up, now almost completely hidden underneath his hat.

"Foolish woman! Are you even listening to reason at this time! You don't know how much this burning flame within you will matter while facing one of those tugs, you don't know if these fears of yours are even rational or not and you don't even know where she is."

"I will search the whole city if needed be, Myerricroft Basil – as you should be doing at this time! All that matters is seeing that girl back home safe and sound so I can kill her myself. Now move aside!"

"NO! I could never live with myself if anything were to happen to you while out there and even if I could then my sister shall undoubtedly kill me if I so much as let you walk out this door!"

"Well you shall best start living with the guilt if that's the case, for I am not leaving my girl in the company of that… that _fiend _for a moment longer! I am going! And you just try and stop me, Myerricroft Basil, or I shall put that revolver Sherry gave me to good use, so help me God!"

_There was too much tension in that room_, the chief inspector concluded as he took his ear off the surface of the door. Gathering his wits, Vole forced himself to gently knock before entering the premises.

"I hope I am not interrupting something of importance?" The little gray mouse could hardly stop himself from smirking upon laying eyes on the startled faces that greeted him. But all things aside, he was could hardly blame them. If he was lucky, they would think he was still in a very snappy mood, if he was very lucky, then they would think him prepared to commit murder and dispose of the first to cross his path.

"Ah, Chief Inspector! Back at long last from your leave, I see. Hope it was educational. And oh no, no interruption whatsoever. In fact, Mrs. Judson and I were having a little… disagreement. Nothing of any importance."

Were the case had been any different, Vole would have downright laughed at the way Basil's landlady was shooting death glares at the eldest brother of the Basil family – and vice-versa. _Mon __dieu__… _They're acting like an old married couple!

"Well then!" the inspector cried out, rubbing his hands in apparent anticipation "Clawes and I found something terribly interesting while eating dust. My friends, I think we are now close to solving this mystery!"

Myerricroft quite promptly interrupted his glaring competition with the landlady to clear his voice, yet before he even had the chance to open his mouth to offer a response, a very distinctive – very child-like voice – interrupted with a "Tag! You're it, Livy!"

"What in the –" Vole started, but just then the kitchen door swung right open, revealing a sight Vole believed he'd never witness (at least not so completely unexpected, mind you!). A small, grey bat had entered the room, laughing and giggling like a mindless fool – followed by an equally laughing and giggling… _Olivia Flaversham_!

_Sacrebleu__! _How in the world did Basil manage that miracle? Ratigan – if Vole was to listen to witnesses, news reports, _official _police reports and what the Queen herself had to say about him – was the mastermind behind things like the Big Ben Caper and Tower Bridge Job! He drowned widows and orphans and almost killed the queen now several months ago! For the love of… he almost killed _Basil_! How in the world –

"Coming through!" one of the children (Vole wasn't sure which) cried, right before they both took a very sudden curb right behind him, nearly throwing him off of balance.

"You two children get back here!" Cried Mr. Flaversham as he entered the living room. "The grown-ups are very busy right now and I don't need another – Oh, good day to you, Inspector Vole. Feeling better today?"

He didn't know. He long since learned that affiliation with anything Basil-related was bound to throw him into a world of absolute chaos, but this was seriously getting ridiculous.

"Somebody should best start explaining… for I feel like I am going mad again!"

And they did…

Several minutes later, Vole was found kicking the kitchen door off its hinges. Inside said kitchen, a half-blind mole was enjoying a warm cup of tea. If the mole took any notice to Vole, he wasn't showing it.

The time for pleasantries was officially over.

"Just who the hell are you?" Vole cried, one hand pointing an accusatory finger at the intruder. "And what the bliming hell is all that nonsense I was told about Basil making a bargain with Ratigan… _again_?"

* * *

(1) The geometric proportions of the regular pentagram are those of the Golden Section. The Golden Proportion is one beloved of artists since Renaissance times and also to be found in post-Hellenic art and in the geomantic planning of Templar sites, being those proportions of a rectangle considered most pleasing to the eye. Here, the ratio of the lengths of the two sides is equal to the ratio of the longer side to the sum of the two sides. Or :

a/b = b/a+b = a+b/a+2b = a+2b/2a+3b = 2a+3b/3a+5b ...etc.

If a square is added to the long side of a golden rectangle, a larger golden rectangle is formed. Continuing this progression forms the basis for a nautilus spiral. The ratio of the distance between two points of a pentagram to its total width is in the golden proportion, as is the ratio of the height above the horizontal bar to that below, as is the ratio of a central part of a line to the outer part.

… for further information, look it up!

* * *

_STOP THE PRESSES! Yes, WitD is finally returning to what I hope to be a steady and regular set of updates. If in two weeks time chapter sixteen is not up, I was ether brutally murdered in my sleep or just... unavailable. Also, sincere appologies for not having the main characters in this one, but I missed writing Vole so much... and if I will have to rewrite this chapter one more time I just know I'll turn gray before my time. Also, if you happen to have a favorite part, do tell. I find myself unable to think of a good scene for the illustration so... help?_

_Reviews are - as always - welcomed and greatly appreciated!_


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